


Mission: Redacted

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins, Biological Warfare, Canon-Typical Violence, Coordinators, Covert Operation, Duo is a fan, F/F, Gen, Heero brings the big guns, Heero brought his sassy pants, Heero has strange hobbies, Kicking ass and taking names, M/M, Mental Instability, Mission Fic, Multi, NSFW, Newtypes (Gundam Wing), Pacifism, Poor Kurtis, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Relena Gets Kidnapped - A Popular Fandom Trope, Relena Gets Rescued - Another Popular Fandom Trope, Shameless Smut, Shooting Things, Use of the "L" word, Wufei brought his bossy pants, also smut, and the mad skills, breakfast pastries, he Does Not Play Well With Others, mostly bad guys, ridiculous journalism, stupid nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-10-30 07:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 69,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10872516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Post-war, Une has been selected to direct the new Preventers Organization.  Unfortunately, following government directives of disarmament and pacifism, criminal enterprises have sprung up, escalating crime and violence.  Searching for a solution, she brainstorms a team of off-the-books operatives tasked with protecting the peace at all costs.Meanwhile, the pilots are all dealing with peace and the scars of war in their own ways, not all of them healthy...





	1. Birth of the Preventers

**Author's Note:**

> This story started out as an AU that was inspired by Suicide Squad.
> 
> If you look sideways, and squint REALLY hard, it kind of still resembles the original idea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post war politics and the beginning of the Preventers directive.

_“I started a joke, which started the whole world crying.”_

I Started a Joke – Confidential MX

* * *

“We can’t espouse total pacifism while wielding weapons of war!”

“We can’t maintain the peace without weapons of some kind!”

Lady Lovisa Une sat silently in her seat, watching the proceedings.  The fledgling ESUN government had been, for weeks, debating the merits and rules of a wide variety of policies, legislation, and ideologies.  Currently, they were discussing the newly agreed upon peacekeeping organization.  Given that they were reluctant to establish a policing force at all, this could be said to be progress.  

After days of exchange, they had finally come to an agreement on what duties said organization would be responsible for.  “Preservation of Peace and Prevention of Conflict in the Earth Sphere.”  

_Hence the name “Preventers” some simpleton thought up._  

Une removed her glasses, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.  She understood the necessity of all this… pageantry.  But after years in an autocratic military, she was rather more accustomed to decisions being made in a more, well, decisive manner.  She would have skipped out on this debate entirely, as she had many of the previous ones, but her presence here was specifically required.  On today’s docket was the legislation governing the entire Preventers organization.  

_And it seemed to be going so well, too; until Von Holck got up to speak._  

Une rolled her eyes as the pompous little German man continued to drone on and on about the perception civilians would have if the government had its own private armed police.  Meanwhile, his opponent, a swarthy South American councilmember, began shouting over him about the safety of those who volunteered to keep the peace and how they deserved the ability to defend themselves from criminals.

_They’re like overgrown children._

Not that Une disagreed with either point, to an extent.  Certainly the citizens of the ESUN would mutter about armed police, if too many Preventers wandered around waving weapons.  But you also couldn’t dismiss the fact that criminals often had weapons and didn’t much care if they had to shoot the law enforcement.  The two men currently debating were obviously of differing minds on the subject.  The German Count was a new, but firm, ally of Relena.  He clearly had bought into the total pacifism shtick hook, line, and sinker.  Personally, Une was more in line with the second, seemingly practical, soul.  

_How, indeed, did one maintain peace and order without some sort of… incentive, to back one up._

Une let out a sigh of relief as the moderator called for a five-minute break.  “And hopefully, cooler heads,” muttered the councilmember to Une’s left.  She smirked.

Returning to the council chamber and more debates (or shouting matches, as the case may be), armed with caffeine and acetaminophen, she noticed that new speakers had taken the floor.  Une slipped her shoes off under the table and sipped at her coffee, thinking on what had been decided so far.  Earlier in the morning, they had at least established the goals and purpose of the Preventers in general terms. Still to be determined was the authorization of force and jurisdiction.  Each individual member of the ESUN would maintain their own current policing forces, albeit with a **much** scaled back use of force: non-lethal methods only, under the recently passed legislation.  Preventers’ scope was to cover international crime such as terrorism or activity that actively crossed national boundaries.  Une could almost overlook the fact that they had decided to make its existence so classified as to be effectively nonexistent, if not for the fact that they were now debating whether or not to allow it to be an **armed** peacekeeping force.

_Because traipsing into terrorist cells armed with a taser and a friendly attitude is the way to get things done._  She snorted.  The same councilman from earlier looked at her sideways and she shrugged minutely, shaking her head.  He gave her a small smile before turning back to the speakers.

The Preventers’ directive now included three hotly debated mandates.  One – destroy “excessive” weapons.  Two – stop insurrections.  And three – stop terrorist activities.  That’s as much as the assembly could agree upon, which was both limiting and unlimited in its own way. Nearly anything could fall under those three mandates, if Une chose to pursue it.

It wasn’t, however, without oversight.  She’d been asked by the ESUN Council to preside over the emerging organization; it had also been made clear that she would be on a short leash.  Said leash was held firmly in the grip of the ESUN President.  Or would be, once one was elected.  They were delaying an election because the qualifications to be President were still being decided (and, Une suspected, because there was a grassroots effort being made to elect Relena, something even the woman herself found ridiculous given her age and lack of experience).  The election would be held following the establishment of all “crucial ESUN legislation so as to prevent the President from having undue influence on the creation of such legislation prior to his or her term.”  Or that was the party line said, anyway.  Une privately thought it was because they couldn’t find very many people willing to run against even the ghost of Relena.

Evidently, she’d also be beholden to a shoestring budget, given the numbers that were now being displayed on the large vid screen at the front of the chamber.

Une sighed. It was going to be a very long day.

*

She had, miraculously, found a quiet, uncluttered corner in which to sit following the final budgetary meeting of the day.

Looking up from the stack of notes in front of her she found Relena moving in her direction.

“Ms. Darlian,” she greeted, inclining her head. Up close, she could see the faint signs of exhaustion on the other young woman’s face.

“Director Une,” she smiled, “how did you find the Preventers talks today?”

Une grimaced.  “I’m sure you can imagine, Relena, exactly my perspective.  Whilst I find your ideology intriguing, I’m not sure it’s practical from the perspective of an intelligence agency slash peacekeeping force with the budget of an underfunded circus troupe.”

Relena sighed.  “I understand your frustration. But the people of the Earth Sphere are tired of war and weapons, and they are frustrated with military might being used to establish a false peace.  If we are to have true peace, we must lay down our weapons and make it.”

“Ms. Darlian.”  She stopped, reconsidered her words and tone before all of her frustration came spewing out.  Started again. “Relena.  There are still a number of rebel factions, mercenary groups, and crime syndicates operating all over the globe and colonies.  I respect you, and I respect what you’re attempting to do here, but we can’t handle those issues unarmed and unprepared.  I can’t send unarmed agents into the arms of terrorists with paperclips and a show of goodwill. Those agents will die because we’re more concerned with the appearance of disarmament than the lives of men and women charged with preserving the peace.  I can’t ask men and women to come and work for an agency that isn’t going to respect their sacrifice and try to preserve their lives.  I won’t.”

The younger woman sighed, gazing off into the distance, brow furrowed.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

When all the posturing, debating, and rhetoric finally ended, Une got slightly more than a shoestring budget, permission to hire as she saw fit, and a license for armed agents, provided the use of force wasn’t “excessive.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean.  

Studying the paperwork detailing the duties and responsibilities of the Preventers agency, she immediately decided two things.  The first was that Sally Po owed her a favor, and she was going to be her first recruit and second in command.  The second was that she needed an R&D department to start developing weapons that weren’t, well, weapons.   The fools had included a directive for Preventers disarmament – ideally within the first 3 to 5 years of organization inception.

*

The election had been remarkably only in its mediocrity.  There had been five or six “official” candidates, but only two serious contenders.  There had been an initial outcry by the public for Relena to put forth her candidacy, but she had gracefully dismissed the idea as flattering but impractical.  “Plus,” she had laughed during the press conference, “the law requires that you be at least 21 to be considered.  Maybe in a few years!”

Once that was out of the way, campaigning and election had gone swimmingly.  Seeing the need for a smooth establishment of the new government, candidates had been given only a few weeks to announce their candidacy, present their message, and wait for the results.  

Thus, just three months after the end of the war, the ESUN citizens chose a new leader. Ultimately, they chose Campbell Lane, a middle-aged Swiss politician. Tall, with dark hair and eyes, a heavy brow, and calm demeanor, he was a moderate candidate in almost every respect.  He had no appreciable military experience, other than a stint in the Swiss Civil Protection Force, and was a bit skeptical of the Total Pacifism approach Relena was championing.  Being a member of the Swiss Confederation he was well-versed in unifying people with a variety backgrounds and beliefs, and it was this experience which bought him the election.  He spoke fluently and eloquently of the benefit of a united Earth citizenry, and the citizens of Earth responded in droves.  

He won in a landslide.

So three months after the end of the war, Une got a new boss.  It just wasn’t the one she expected.

President Lane was entitled by ESUN law to establish Ministers for each of the various agencies the government was responsible for.  Most of his picks were made, in this first presidency of the new government, for political reasons.  One of the most obvious examples was naming Relena Darlian Vice Foreign Minister.  It was a good move – it played on the sympathies of the people at large, and gave the colonies a familiar name and face to represent their interests.  

He chose Count Von Holck as Minister of Security.  Which was a strange, if politically sound move.  Von Holck was an established Pacifist, and appointing him Minister of Security gave voters the impression that the Ultimate Goal was Total Pacifism and disarmament, regardless of what policies the President ultimately enacted.

Unfortunately, President Lane decided Preventers fell entirely within the Security department’s purview.  And that was where Une’s trouble began.  

She now reported directly to Minister Von Holck.

*

Une wanted to bang her head against a brick wall.  Not that she would ever do something so undignified, but the urge was more and more frequent these days. She was only 6 months into her position as Commander, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the situation was untenable.  She was close to shooting her boss.  

The pretentious little man was a pacifism zealot, and he made most of her work nearly impossible.  Any requests for new equipment, weapons, or weapons repair were met with questioning worthy of Oz’s most notorious interrogators.  She spent hours justifying every penny she spent, item she needed, and agent promotion she signed off on.  

Not to mention every mention requiring force or threat of force went through him for approval.  It was all redacted for the security of the mission, of course, leaving very little hard information, but he still required her to present herself to his office to be briefed.  He typically signed off on each one, but he did seem to enjoy putting her through the rigmarole.  

The Preventers organization itself was relatively small, at least for a woman accustomed to leading armies.  To make up for its size, she had recruited the best and the brightest she could get her hands on, from all manner of organizations.  Everyone from Oz, to Alliance, to local police officers, anyone who caught her eye was soon wooed to the agency.  She established rigorous qualification and training protocols, ensuring everyone met the same standard.  She brought in scientists to help with “asset” development (since weapons development was clearly out of the question) and infrastructure projects.  She had established an effective chain of command utilizing a combination of old war comrades and new intelligence officers.  In short, she had built something pretty damn fantastic from the ground up.  

The problem was that it wasn’t enough.  For every terrorist group they investigated, tracked, arrested and dispersed, another one popped up in its place.  For every illegal arms dealer whose stock they impounded and destroyed, another shipment of rocket launchers turned up 500 miles away.  And the worst part was that, because of their directives regarding “minimal force” and ancient rules of engagement, she lost good agents on nearly every mission that required ground forces.

Global disarmament was creating its own problems as well.  In countries where it was complete, or nearly complete, organized crime had risen exponentially.  Member nations who requested assistance with these issues from the ESUN government were referred to Une as head of Preventers.  Unfortunately, the mafia didn’t fall within Preventer mandate, meaning that Une had to send those cases back to their originators with instructions to investigate and neutralize using their own police and detective agencies.  Who were similarly unarmed, although presumably capable of investigating the cases. Crime syndicates who could be definitively linked to arms smuggling or terrorist activities could be handled by the Preventers, but that list got longer every day.  

Of course, all of that meant that nations that weren’t disarmed were now reluctant to do so.  They weren’t guaranteed any security if they did disarm, and only a blind man could miss the crime rates in disarmed countries.  Of course all of that led back to the Minister of Security, the bane of Une’s existence.  

Which brought her round to the cause of today’s potential brain damage: the memos that appeared in her email almost daily regarding the “deweaponization of all ESUN forces” – a sly remark intended to remind her that Preventers itself was supposed to be weapon-free in the next two to four years.  They were already advocating a slow phasing out of weapons as they became obsolete or needed to be replaced.  She was encouraged to use quote “less lethal means” of subduing criminal targets.

_Tell that to the rocket-launching terrorist groups._  She pinched the bridge of her nose, and ignored the email for now.   _It’s not as though he actually expects me to_ **_respond_ ** _._

The next email was from her R&D department.  She skimmed it, noting that it was test results for a new non-lethal riot round.  This was not the first such project, and almost all of the previous ones had been scrapped.  She noticed this one had a range of 100m to incapacitate a target.  Which was about 90 meters farther than the last test.  

It was time to take a trip downstairs.  She was getting quite tired of asking her agents to take a paintball gun to a bazooka fight.

The building that Preventers was housed in was squat and unassuming.  Only five stories above ground, with a blasé sign that read “Interior Department” and lettering on the doors indicating it was “Not Open to the Public.”  The front lobby held a single desk with a security guard and elevators that could only be accessed by encrypted pass card (which, incidentally, the security guard did not possess).  The upper stories were mostly administrative offices, conference rooms, break rooms, and the other mendacity of corporate work.  They even had a gym.

The magic happened below ground.  Several underground levels housed everything from firing ranges to semi-permanent living quarters.  There was a cafeteria, a close quarters combat gym, and a simulation room where agents could spend time in sims for everything from helicopter piloting to kung fu.

But Une was heading for an area that was little known, though many suspected its existence.  

Preventers had its very own Defensive Armament Department.  In other words, they had a weapons lab.  She just couldn’t **call** it a weapons lab.  It was housed in the bottom two subterranean floors of the facility, and couldn’t be accessed without a very special key card and voice recognition.  In fact, there weren’t even buttons on the elevator to indicate it existed.  The upper floor designated to DAD was almost entirely comprised of labs. And maybe a break room or two.  The bottommost floor was housing for the scientists.

As Une scanned her passcard and spoke into the micro speaker, she contemplated what she was going to say to her rather… quirky… chief scientist.

Dr. Geary was something of an enigma.  Une suspected he wasn’t being entirely forthcoming with his background, but he had come with an amazing resume and body of work.  Also he had excellent references, and the things he was working on were unparalleled in other scientific avenues.

She stepped off the elevators to what could only be described as mad cackling.  “Dr. Geary?” she called out, glancing around.

“Director!  My, my, what a pleasant surprise.  Come to see the newest beanbag launcher have you?”  Dr. Geary appeared from around the corner, hawkish nose leading the way.  He had grown his hair out some since she had hired him, and now the wirey grey mass was confined to a somewhat stubby ponytail low on his head.

Une rolled her eyes.  “I think you know I’m not the least bit interested in that, or your new and improved ‘sticky foam’ experiment.  Show me something more… interesting.”

The doctor smiled slyly at her from under heavy brows.  “Interesting, hmm?  Well I might have a thing or two that strikes your fancy.  Come along!”

Une trailed along bemusedly.  They went into a large testing lab – which basically amounted to a large metal box. Just inside the door was a table with a hair dryer and a blank display tablet. At the far end of the room was what appeared to be a human torso on a stick.  “Doctor, please tell me that’s not what it looks like.”

“What? No, no! No, it’s a dummy made of a polymer that simulates human skin.  It’s for testing purposes.  In fact, I’m going to demonstrate exactly how it works momentarily.  Now, note to the left of the room there’s a thermal imager pointed at the dummy.”

Une hadn’t noticed it when she arrived, but she took note of it now.  Dr. Geary lifted the hair dryer – _OK it’s clearly not a hair dryer, but I couldn’t say what it_ **_is_ ** _either!_ – and pointed it at the dummy.  He depressed a button, and… nothing happened.  

Well that wasn’t quite right.

After about 2 seconds, streams of data began scrolling across the tablet.  But as far as she could tell, nothing had happened to the dummy and the hair dryer – or whatever it was – hadn’t done a thing.

“Ok, you’ve piqued my interest.”

He chuckled, laying the device down and gesturing at the tablet.  She picked it up, reviewing the screen.  After a few moments she sighed, disgruntled.  “A translation, if you please.”

_Ah.  Well at least that particular name should be easy to sneak under the radar in Von Holck’s office.  Not that I know what it_ **_means_ ** _._

 

“Well Director, I have created an Active Denial System.”

Une waited.  And waited.  Clearly, she was going to have to drag it out of the insufferable man. “And what is that, exactly?”

He smiled, and it looked almost sinister.  “Well, when you point the device at your target, high frequency microwaves penetrate a few millimeters into the skin to create transient, incapacitating pain.  It does so by _momentarily_ heating the skin to 54 degrees.  It leaves no permanent damage or marks of any kind.”

Une blinked, sitting the tablet back down on the table.  “You’ve invented a **_heat ray_ **?!”

_Ah.  He_ **_was_ ** _the source of the maniacal laughter I heard when I got here._

*

Une stared at Sally.  “What do you mean, we lost the entire team?  How is that possible?”

Sally sighed, swallowed hard.  “We don’t know what happened.  The insertion team was assembled at an initial rendezvous point.  No one had made any movement toward the terrorist cell, although of course they were under surveillance while the team prepped to go in.  They weren’t even supposed to make a move for another 36 hours – this was reconnaissance and planning time.  It was a small cell, as you know, and they weren’t expecting a lot of resistance.  Ten agents seemed like overkill, but after the last few missions, it seemed better to err on the side of caution.  From what we can tell, someone must have tipped the cell off, but we can’t figure out how.  All we know for sure is that they lost contact with the surveillance team at 2212, and the insertion team was itself raided 3 minutes later.  No survivors.”

Une stared out the window, seeing nothing.  

Sally waited.

“How many people were involved in the planning stage before the team went out?”

“You, me, the insertion team leader himself, and the surveillance team leader.”

Une was silent again, thinking.  Clearly the two dead men hadn’t leaked their own operation details.  Certainly she and Sally weren’t in the habit of selling out their own agency.  Somewhere in the mix, she smelled a rat.  She met Sally’s eyes, saw in her face the same conclusions she was coming to.  “What would you suggest?”

Sally closed her eyes, shoulders drooping for a moment.  Then she squared them, meeting Une’s gaze.  “We need a covert ops team.  Something so need-to-know that no one needs to know.  We file all these missions in triplicate for approval before we send the team out – someone has access to them that shouldn’t have.  They have code names, code words, code locations, and most of the reports are redacted, but there was still enough information in the paperwork for someone to figure it out.  Meaning someone is close to the action.  We need a team that doesn’t **exist**.”

Une nodded, mentally flipping through agent files, considering team members.  Sally stood to leave.  When she reached the office door she stopped, but didn’t turn.  “And they need real weapons, Commander.  I’m tired of burying our people.”  She turned the knob and was gone without waiting for a response.

Time for a trip down to the basement.  

When she stepped off the elevator, Geary was waiting for her.  

“You heard then, I take it?”

He nodded, solemnly.  “What can I do for you today Director?”

She stopped to think about it.  She’d come down with no definitive request in mind.  Over the months since she’d first come down, Geary had provided her with any number of miraculous or science-warping devices.  She now had a freeze ray – _Oh excuse me, Ultraviolet Target Immobilizer –_ a sound ray that incapacitated over long distances, and he was working on a kind of projectile weapon that essentially created an invisible wave that stunned the target, knocked them off their feet, and caused temporary paralysis.  He had even redesigned the body armor with Kevlar XP and improved bullet resistant plating.

But the gadgets weren’t doing enough.  Her agents weren’t James Bond, and this wasn’t an action flick.

“We need something different, Doctor.  I appreciate the lengths that you’ve gone to in order to meet our mandate, but we’re still losing far too many good agents, and we aren’t bringing in enough bad guys.”

He nodded, thoughtfully.  “I can’t create weapons that look and sound like weapons, your Minister would never approve.  Nor would bringing in more than the average number of dead terrorists…” He paused, eyes moving as though reading text only he could see. He stilled, seemed to reach some sort of conclusion, and glanced back up at her face.

“Director Une, I wonder if you’re familiar with the New Type theory?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Lady Une’s 'canon' name is Cordelia, but Frozen Teardrop is basically a dumpster fire, so I ignored it.
> 
> Von Holck is my own creation, as is Campbell Lane. Von Holck is named after a real German Count – he flew a fighter plane in WWII. Campbell Lane is the name of the voice actor who did the English narration for Gundam Wing.
> 
> I realize that armed police and firearms in general are a subject of some debate in a variety of arenas – please don’t take this fic as a political statement, I’m just exploring the ‘verse here.
> 
> The details regarding Preventers’ directives are canon from the series, but the directive to disarm is not. I made that up for my own nefarious purposes.
> 
> The weapons I’m describing are either real things that exist, or that are honestly in-development now. They make me laugh so I went with it. I can cite sources if you’re particularly interested.
> 
> Yes, the New Type theory – that hotly debated Gundam Universe topic. Essentially, there’s a theory that people born in space have evolved to use more of their brain than the average human, and this bestows them with awesome mental powers. It’s not really explored in the Gundam Wing canon, but we’re going to explore it here!


	2. The Boys are Back in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pilots have one last meet-up, choosing the options, before the options choose them.

_“Just because we check the guns at the door,_

_doesn’t mean our brains will change from hand grenades.”_

Heathens – 21 Pilots

* * *

 

Duo rolled the bike behind a copse of trees, draped a camo net over it, and began making his way towards the safe house they’d all agreed on. Yeah, he was meeting the other pilots, and yeah, he trusted them more than the entire rest of the human race combined, yadda yadda yadda…

 

He still wasn’t gonna leave himself without a the ability to make a fast getaway. He hadn’t lived this long without learning the fine art of ‘not getting caught.’ Not to mention the bike was his pride and joy, aside from Deathscythe. He’d built it himself over the course of the war, scavenging parts while he was with the Sweepers. It had started with an antique Harley engine in near-perfect condition, and he’d tinkered and tweaked until it was a nearly as intimidating as his mecha. It boasted a neo-steel custom frame, a 10L tank and carbon fiber wheels, all of it powder coated black. The only spot of color on the entire machine was a pearlescent midnight blue “Shinigami” on the tank.

 

Approaching the coordinates they’d all been supplied with, Duo began to consider what this little reunion might be about. He’d been purposely **not** thinking about it for days since he’d received the communication, but since he was less than a kilometer away, it was probably time to give the matter some evaluation.

 

By the end of the war Quatre had forcibly molded the five of them into some semblance of a team, mainly through sheer force of will, but they weren’t _friends_ by anyone’s standards. Blood brothers, maybe, if he were feeling generous. Something he wasn’t particularly known for.  

 

_War’s over. Nobody gives a shit what we think about who we are, or what we’ve done. They’ve already made up their minds about it all anyway._

 

That was the crux of the matter, he figured. It’d been almost 8 weeks since peace had been declared when Quatre sent an encrypted message with a date, time, and location to all of the pilots. No explanation, but Duo could pretty well figure it out. The new government was still busily sorting itself out, and it hadn’t quite found the time to hunt down the illustrious Gundam pilots. Duo wanted to fly under the radar as long as possible, and maybe scrounge up enough documents to go unnoticed forever, depending on how long it took the feds to get their shit together. He reckoned the others, except maybe Q, felt basically the same, and they needed to get their shit together before the feds did.

 

So, he expected that Quatre wanted them together, one last time, to mission plan. Except this time the mission was ‘survive the end of the war.’ Or ‘disappear into the clueless masses.’ Or maybe ‘get rid of the Gundams before anyone else gets their grubby hands on them.’

 

Probably the last option. He snorted. _Over my dead body. And probably Wufei’s too. Can’t say about the other guys._

 

They five of them were the only ones who truly understood each other, and they expected no quarter from the public. For now, the media was calling them ‘Heroes of the Eve War,’ but they all knew how quickly the tides could change. Hell, they’d been caught in the surge of public opinion once or twice already. Luckily for the others, their identities weren’t common knowledge. Duo, unfortunately, had been broadcast all over the damn Earth Sphere news net when Oz had captured him. Not his name, granted, but his face.

 

_And my hair._ He rolled his eyes. _Maybe it’s time to cut the damn fool mess, like the others are always hinting at._

 

Regardless, before they all rode off into the sunset, it was probably a good idea to at least talk about what the hell they were gonna do. It’d be a shame to all leave and end up at the same place, after all. He snickered. _Been there, done that._

 

“What are you giggling about Maxwell?”

 

Duo turned, recognizing the smug tone, and spotted a familiar slim figure approaching the clearing around the safe house at the same time as him. “Wufei! Ah you know, just pondering the existential nature of phenomenological paradigms.”

 

The proud Chinese man blinked at him. He arched a brow. “And what amusement are you finding in contemplating the patterns of others’ perceptions and experiences?”

 

Duo barked a laugh. “Ah, Wu, just wondering what in the hell we’re all gonna do now. You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl.”

 

Wufei grimaced, apparently acquainted with Duo’s rather colorful turn of phrase. “Philosophical though that sounds, I can’t say that I’m familiar with the colloquialism you just used.”

 

Duo smiled, but it had a bitter edge. “It means we’re all terrorists, as far as the world’s concerned, and I don’t see that changing much, is all. I mean, yeah, we’re the heroes that saved the world today, but one day somebody’s gonna remember we blew a lot of shit up. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t know how to do a whole lot more than blow shit up, shoot shit, and steal shit. So what is there for five teenagers with more kills than skills in a new ‘peaceful’ world?”

 

Wufei hummed thoughtfully as they approached the door to the small house, but didn’t respond.

 

_Well hell, if Wufei doesn’t got any idea what we’re gonna do, then I’m well and truly fucked._

 

*

 

Duo made himself comfortable, draped over an armchair, cleaning his nails with a switchblade. He’d positioned himself near the window, half turned from the others, where he could see the edge of the woods outside. He looked relaxed, slumped over the arms of the chair, feet dangling, but if the shit hit the fan, he had a clear path straight back to his bike and out of here. He’d already pushed the window up a crack, both to hear anything coming and to make it easier to open in a hurry.

 

He and Wufei had been the first to arrive, to his surprise. He’d expected Quatre to be there ready to serve tea and crumpets to everyone on arrival, but he hadn’t shown up until almost a half an hour later, Trowa trailing in his wake. Heero had turned up just after them, and now they were all seated in the main room of the house, eyeing each other warily.

 

No, friends they were not.

 

_Except maybe Q-ball and Tro_. Duo watched them from under his lashes as he fiddled with the knife. Trowa seemed to be discreetly but exclusively focused on the shorter pilot, eyes following his every move. Duo knew they had left Peacemillion together after the final battle, Quatre being wounded, and he guessed that Trowa had hung around for Q’s recuperation.

 

_Trowa Barton, Gundam Pilot nursemaid extraordinaire._ Duo huffed out an aborted laugh, but didn’t give voice to his thoughts. ‘Skewered by a knife wielding circus clown’ wasn’t on his list of ways he wanted to die, thank you very much.

 

Wufei looked at him questioningly but Duo just winked in return. He had to keep some secrets, after all.

 

They were all waiting for Quatre to call them to order, Duo guessed, taking the time to observe each one in turn. Trowa continued his silent, watchful brooding, leaned against the wall near the kitchen door, eyeing Quatre as he fairly bounced around the room. It was like watching a humming bird dart around, as he poked through the small house and kitchen. What he could possibly be looking for, Duo didn’t know, since it was obvious from the dust and musty smell that the house hadn’t been used in some time. Wufei sat stiffly in the other armchair, perfect posture as always, similarly watching Quatre. He had a look of mild perplexity on his face. _Probably wondering what in the hell he’s doin’, same as me._ Duo glanced at Heero, who had turned a dining chair backwards and was now resting his arms across the top, fiddling with a handheld tablet. _Least he left that fuckin’ laptop somewhere else. ‘ Bout the best thing these last few weeks was **not** listening to him type on it while I slept._ The Japanese teen didn’t seem the least bit interested in anything going on around him, sharply focused on whatever was scrolling across his screen.

 

“What’s this about Winner?” Wufei finally broke the silence, and they all turned to look at their unofficial leader.

 

Who seemed strangely lackluster, now that Duo was focused on him. For all his inability to stay still, he looked strangely detached. Of course, he had been gravely injured by Dorothy – _those fucking eyebrows, man_ – and perhaps that could account for it. Duo didn’t think so though; something about the young man seemed different in a way that didn’t speak of physical pain or injury. He seemed almost… muffled.

 

Duo shook his head, flicking his blade closed and tucking it away. “Yeah Q-bean, whatcha draggin’ us out to the middle of nowhere to chat about?”

 

“Ah, yes... uh…” Quatre, strangely, glanced at Trowa for… something. The tall, quiet teen nodded shortly and leaned forward in his chair to speak.

 

Duo was becoming increasingly confused. _Is this the fucking Twilight Zone? **Trowa** is gonna give us some kinda pep talk or some shit?_

 

Before he could open his mouth, though, Trowa began talking.

 

“Quatre and I just wanted to take some time to speak with you all about what your plans are now that the war has ended. We’d like to… maintain some kind of contact with you, on whatever terms you’re comfortable with of course, and offer our assistance, should you need it in the future.”

 

“Yes! Exactly that. Thank you Trowa!” Quatre beamed at him, looking a bit more like himself. “Trowa and I are going to be on L3 for the time being, to take some time for ourselves and acclimate to civilian life. We’ll give you our contact information so we can be reached if something comes up. What about the rest of you?”

 

“Wait, so you’re not going back to be head honcho of your family’s company?” Duo asked, thoroughly bewildered. “Did I miss something here? I mean, why slum it with the civvies when you could live in the lap of luxury man? No offense.”

 

Trowa and Quatre exchanged another weighted look, and understanding hit him like lightening.

 

They were together. Like _together-together_.

 

_Well, fuck. Foot, meet mouth._ One day he was gonna choke on the damn thing.

 

Duo glanced at the two Asian pilots, wondering if they’d picked up on it. Actually, he was fairly certain Heero was completely tone deaf to that sort of thing, but Wufei might’ve gotten something.

 

Heero appeared nonplussed. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t care. Wufei was eyeing the two boys speculatively, but he didn’t look upset, just thoughtful.

 

“Nevermind, man. I was just wondering, and it’s none of my business anyway. You kids have a good time.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t really have any place to be, but I’ve got a friend said I could come back to L2 with her, help out at her scrap yard. I’m good with machine and suit repair, and it gives me something useful to do for a while. Plus, no one is gonna look for one of those big bad Gundam pilots to be hauling garbage.” He chortled. “If you’re asking what I wanna be when I grow up, I hadn’t planned on having the opportunity, so I haven’t figured it out yet.”

 

Quatre giggled, turning expectantly to Heero and Wufei.   They were having some kind of silent battle of wills.

 

Duo rolled his eyes so hard he thought he saw his frontal lobe. _Neither one of them can ever back down on anything. Just get a ruler and whip ‘em out already._

 

Wufei spoke first. “I’m planning to go to what remains of the L5 cluster. My colony is gone, obviously, but I’d like to see if I could find any remains of my people or my culture on one of the smaller, remaining colonies. I may visit China as well, at least the parts which made up the Dragon Clan’s ancestral home.”

 

The Chinese teen’s words were spoken evenly, almost tonelessly, but Duo understood the pain of losing everyone and everything you knew in one fiery, agonizing moment. Knew a bit about guilt, as well. He grimaced. _What a thing to have in common_. He glanced up at Wufei’s face, but he was staring fixedly at Heero, waiting for his own pronouncement.

 

Heero, for once in his short life, actually caught the hint.

 

“I’m going to stay on Earth. I want to… keep an eye on a few things.” He sounded strange to Duo, speculative and grim. If it had been uttered in any other tone, he’d have assumed Heero was referring to Relena. They had some kind of mutual stalking thing going on, after all. But this didn’t seem like it could be that, since he sounded rather ominous.

 

Duo didn’t ask though, because knowing Heero, it was probably one of those ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you’ things, and Duo didn’t really care enough to risk his life. ‘Shot by a psychopath for asking what he wanted to be when he grew up’ wasn’t on the short list either.

 

Quatre was positively beaming now, which seemed odd considering the cheerless tone in the room. “What else Trowa? Oh yeah! The Gundams! What do you guys want to do with them?”

 

Trowa interrupted before anyone else could speak, looking intently at Quatre, though it was clear his words were for the others. “Quatre and I plan to hide ours. There’s an old WEI mining satellite on the edges of the L4 cluster that was… conveniently taken off the books just before the war started. On paper it’s marked as abandoned, citing resource exhaustion, but it’s heavily secured and difficult to find. It was used by the doctors’ organization during the war, but we have the only access to it. We’d be happy to provide you with coordinates and security codes if you’d like to utilize it as well.”

 

Duo blinked.

 

_Today is just **full** of surprises._

 

He had fully expected a passionate argument for self-destructing the Gundams, or some crazy plan to… fly them into the sun or something! Not to be provided with the perfect hiding place to keep a ten-ton indestructible murder machine. Of course, he’d had some pretty good ideas of what to do with his buddy – it was hidden right now, after all – but the thought that any of the others would offer to help him had never crossed his mind. He was definitely in the Twilight Zone.

 

“Thank you for the generous offer, but I’ve already stored my Gundam somewhere… out of the way.” Wufei replied, looking more bemused than shocked.

 

Trowa nodded, once, and looked at Heero and Duo.

 

Heero grunted something that might, if you were being very generous, be called a laugh. “I’ve got plans for storing my machine as well, but I’ll keep it in mind should a change become necessary.”

 

That just left Duo. “Well, I **was** planning to store my buddy under a heap of junk at the scrap place, but this seems like a better choice for going unnoticed. So yeah, guess I’ll take advantage of the Batcave,” he quipped.

 

Trowa smirked, but Quatre practically whooped with laughter, setting off Duo’s proximity alarms again.

 

He wasn’t **that** funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, profuse thanks to ChronicWhimsy for being the best gosh-darn beta reader/hand holder/editor of all time. 
> 
> Duo’s bike is based on a real life custom bike designed and built by Dylan Robb. He built it in his backyard shed in his spare time with salvaged and custom parts. The backstory inspired me as much as the bike itself – very quintessentially Duo.
> 
> I’ve no idea what the boys did with their Gundams between the Eve Wars and Endless Waltz (which, incidentally, I am completely ignoring so you can too), so this is my solution.


	3. A Slow Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What have Trowa and Quatre been up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings: Mental illness/instability

_I’m fucked up, I’m black and blue,_

_I’m built for it, all the abuse._

_I got secrets that nobody, nobody, nobody knows.”_

Gangsta – Kehlani

* * *

 

Trowa and Quatre left Peacemillion together. Quatre had needed what amounted to glorified field surgery after that damnable Dorothy had stabbed him with a fencing foil, of all things, and he was in no shape to look after himself. There had been no discussion between them, it had simply been understood that Trowa was going.

 

Neither had there been any discussion of going back to L4 and Quatre’s family. He was every bit the soldier any of the other pilots were, and the situation with his family was an unknown. No wounded man wanted to find himself behind enemy lines operating at less than peak efficiency, much less put himself there voluntarily. So they had stashed their Gundams on an old resource satellite Quatre knew about, and headed to L3 incognito. Trowa was more than passingly familiar with the colony, and Quatre was less likely to be recognized there.

 

It was a simple matter to secure a small apartment, and Trowa had squirreled away enough hacked funds to afford them relatively comfortable, secure living for quite some time.

 

Trowa expected that in a few weeks’ time, once Quatre’s injuries were healed and some of the post war excitement had settled down, he would be returning to L4 as the infamous Winner heir, ready to take on his sisters the way he had taken on Oz. Privately, Trowa was hoping to go with him, or at least be invited to come visit. He’d begun building a tentative friendship with the good-natured Arabian, and he didn’t have so many friends that he wanted to let this one slip away.

 

The first couple of weeks on L3 were uneventful. Quatre slept, a lot, as expected, and Trowa fed him simple meals and encouraged him to rest. Once he was more comfortable and able to get up and move around, they played card games, talked, or sat quietly. Quatre seemed withdrawn, but he chalked it up to the recent turmoil and didn’t think much of it.

 

About two months into his convalescence, Quatre mentioned wanting to have a meeting with the other pilots and talk about their options, before the ESUN decided what those options were. Trowa quietly acquiesced and Quatre shot off an encrypted message.

 

It was only a few days later that Trowa started to notice things were a little... off.

 

Quatre would lose track of what he was doing or his thoughts in the middle of a sentence. Sometimes he would wander off in the middle of a conversation, even though he hadn’t been done speaking. He was flighty and easily distracted, when before he had had laser sharp focus. These changes really weren’t all that concerning, except that they were so glaringly out of character for the pilot well known for his sharp mind.

 

Trowa still hoped that it was just a result of everything the young man had been through.

 

But he somehow doubted it.

 

The meeting with the other pilots was rapidly approaching and Trowa still wasn’t sure what to do, if anything. He’d considered mentioning his concerns to the others, and simultaneously dismissed the idea.

 

_Maybe I’ll just wait and see if they notice. Maybe it’s just me._

 

He watched Quatre carefully organize the silverware drawer with the same attention he’d once given battle attack plans. He sighed.

 

_It’s definitely not just me._

*

 

They were only days away from their meeting with the other pilots, and Trowa was getting genuinely concerned. He was still seesawing between his instincts to hide all weaknesses and his desire to have input from the only people he trusted.

 

Going to L4 with Quatre’s family was now completely out of the question. There hadn’t been any immediate plans to do so, but there had been tentative talk of it when Quatre first started to notice the changes Trowa had been cataloging. They’d had the wisp of an idea that perhaps they could use Winner connections to get in contact with some kind of specialist. Nothing concrete, really, just a cautious notion. Not long after, they’d received an email that could only be interpreted as a _summons_ from one of Quatre’s sisters, Malika – apparently the designated family representative. It had summarily revealed their disdain for Quatre’s role in the war, demanded that he return home and accept the mantle of responsibility his father had planned for him, and assumed that he would heel like a dog at their command.

 

Reading between the lines, Trowa understood that Quatre was to come home and be a good little figurehead while they continued on as they had been doing in the preceding months. He also assumed that Quatre had been named heir in the will, given the adamancy of the call to return. He knew, without a doubt, that if they returned to the fold, Quatre would be carted off to a nice private institution and never seen again.

 

Not only would Trowa _personally_ not stand for that, but also Quatre possessed enough knowledge about hacking, breaking and entering, the other pilots, and the doctors’ wartime organization to make that sort of outcome undeniably dangerous for everyone involved.

 

Plus, when Quatre wasn’t off in la-la-land, he was every bit the guerilla soldier and tactician they all were.

 

Heero would truly be forced to kill him.

 

The two of them discussed this during one of his lucid phases, Quatre arguing that Trowa should kill him rather than allowing him to be institutionalized. He was well aware of how much of a liability that would make him. Trowa felt the situation was manageable, as long as they went underground far enough to be undiscoverable, something that wouldn’t be hard for the two of them to arrange.

 

“Trowa,” Quatre began, hesitantly. Trowa knew, immediately, he wasn’t going to like where this was headed. He put a stop to it immediately.

 

“We’ve talked about this Q. I’ve already made all the arrangements. We’re going to meet with the others and give them our location, so they’ll be the only ones to know where to find us. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

“Trowa, it’s getting worse. I’m waking up in the middle of the night, unsure how I got where I’m at, or doing things I don’t remember starting. I’m worried about what I might do.”

 

“You never do anything dangerous. The craziest thing we’ve ever caught you at is pouring coffee over your cereal instead of milk.”

 

“Ok, but what about the time I threw away all the bathroom linens and replaced it all with paper towels because I said ‘cotton is possessed’?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t realize that was a ‘moment.’ I thought you just wanted to see me naked.”

 

“TROWA!” Quatre blushed, hotly.

 

_But he didn’t deny anything..._

“I **could** do **anything** Trowa! I could wander the streets and, and... and kill somebody! Or worse!”

 

“What’s worse than killing someone?” Trowa asked, drolly.

 

Quatre practically growled in response. Trowa understood his feelings, but he wasn’t willing to consider any solutions other than to go into hiding. He certainly wasn’t willing to do what Quatre wanted. The blonde opened his mouth to speak, but Trowa held up his hand.

 

_All right, we’re going to do this then._

 

“I need to tell you something.”

 

Quatre’s jaw snapped shut, registering the somber, serious tone.

 

“Have you ever wondered why I’m such a good infiltrator? Why there’s literally **no place** that I can’t get into and become an integral part of?”

 

“I’d just assumed you had a great deal of training. And, no offense intended, but that your background of, well, lack of identity made it easy for you to assume that sort of role.”

 

“Quatre. I impersonated Trowa Barton. He was Dekim Barton’s **son** and no one questioned it. No one, in the entire Barton Organization, ever **once** called me out on impersonating a man 15 cm taller, 25 kilos heavier, and, frankly, much blonder than me. I didn’t just impersonate him; I stole his entire identity. I became him. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

 

Trowa could see him mulling it over, watched that brilliant mind take the information and turn it over, examine it. Watched as some kind of conclusion crept forward. “How do you – actually, no. What exactly **do** you do?”

 

_Such a clever boy._

 

“I don’t know anything about my background. I don’t know who my parents were, where I came from, nothing. For all I know, I hatched out of an egg. My earliest memory is of being on the side of the road, contemplating the stars, wondering how I could get there, out amongst them.

 

“Then, along comes this mercenary captain, asking me who I was. I wanted to go away with him, and suddenly he offered me a place to stay and food. Now what merc wants to drag a kid – practically a toddler – around a mercenary camp? None. Who teaches a kid that young to fight, to pilot a mobile suit? No one. But he did these things – things that I wanted, wished for.

 

“I didn’t realize, at first, that when I _wanted_ things from other people, if I wanted them badly enough, they’d just give them to me. Or make them happen. As I got older, it got stronger, and I developed some... control... over it.”

 

Trowa glanced up at Quatre, seeing comprehension dawning behind the confusion. He looked down at clasped hands, hurrying to finish explaining before the disgust followed on the heels of that understanding.

 

“I can make people believe anything I want. I can make them think I’m not standing right in front of them, if that’s what I want. I can also... control them. Force them to do things, or not do things. Direct their thoughts. I mean, I don’t read thoughts, but I can plant them, reinforce them. Push them on someone else’s mind. For god’s sake, I made Une believe I was her devoted attaché, even though she **knew** I was a Gundam pilot.”

 

He looked up again, just over Quatre’s shoulder. He didn’t want to look at his face, didn’t want to see the expression on it. But he had to get it all out.

 

“There are some limits, of course. I can’t control people I’m not near. I have to be in the same room with them, at least. I can make them believe I’m someone I’m not, that’ll stick permanently, but I can’t control their actions if I’m not standing right there. I can’t control a lot of people at one time. I’ve met one or two people it doesn’t work on, for whatever reason. I haven’t tried to manipulate you or any of the other pilots, so I can’t say for sure what I’m going to suggest would work, but...” he heaved a sigh, and met Quatre’s eyes.

 

The tactician was back. He could see it, watch him assimilate it into the mental map that was ‘Trowa Barton,’ test how it could be useful. Trowa suspected he was also testing out how his words _felt_. It was probably very difficult to lie to Quatre Winner.

 

“You’re suggesting that you might be able to control me when I’m... not myself. That you could keep me from doing something... unreasonable.”

 

Trowa nodded, waiting for a reaction.

 

He was surprised to see it was relief. Not disgust. Not fear. Just sweet relief. A lessening of a burden he hadn’t even realized Quatre was carrying.

 

Trowa smiled, tentatively. Quatre smiled back.

 

*

 

Trowa got the opportunity to test their theory the very next day.

 

“Quatre?” Trowa closed and locked the door behind him, making his way into the small kitchen, and began putting away his purchases. There was no sign of the blonde pilot, but it wasn’t a very large apartment. Finishing up, he made his way first to the bathroom and then to the bedroom.

 

“Quatre?” Trowa opened the bedroom door and immediately stopped. “Q, what are you doing?” he asked, cautiously.

 

The small – _and surprisingly limber!_ – blonde had rigged up some kind of trapeze to dangle from the ceiling and he was languidly swinging back and forth while he hung upside down, leg wrapped around one side to keep himself from falling.

 

At Trowa’s words, the blonde opened his eyes lazily, smiling like a particularly satisfied cat.

 

“Are those your **bedsheets**?” he muttered in disbelief, looking at the torn strips.

 

Quatre contorted around, twisting into an arabesque pose while he looked Trowa up and down, slowly. Then he pirouetted around the bottom of the sheets, landing casually on his feet.

 

He sauntered over, coming to a stop mere centimeters away, and ran his fingers lightly down Trowa’s chest, glancing up at him from beneath long golden lashes. He wrapped his arms up and around broad shoulders, grinning.

 

“Hello...” hot, warm breath puffed against his neck.

 

Suddenly Trowa realized this was much, much more serious than he had suspected. And he was in _profound_ trouble with this new, sensual persona.

 

_Ok. Self control. Yes. I have that._

 

He peeled the blonde off of him, catching him by the wrists. He looked Quatre straight in his eyes, ignoring the imploring pout he received in return. Taking a deep breath, and drawing on that _feeling_ he had, the one that could re-write the world, he _pushed_ at Quatre’s mind.

 

“Quatre. You’re going to go lie down and take a nap. When you wake up we can talk and you’ll feel much better.”

 

Immediately, Quatre turned away, walked to the bare bed on the far left of the room, curled up on it and went to sleep.

 

Trowa huffed a relieved sigh and tossed the blanket from his own bed over the slim figure.

 

_At least we know I can do it._

 

He looked up at the makeshift circus equipment hanging from the ceiling and shook his head. He didn’t even know what to do with that.

 

He was pretty damn impressed with the act though.

 

_If I leave it, I might get a repeat performance._

 

He turned and stomped out of the room, mingled annoyance and lust trailing behind him.

 

Quatre came wandering out of the bedroom a couple of hours later, stretching in the same shorts and tank he’d had on when Trowa had come home. Trowa eyed him over the top of his book, wondering if he was back to himself just yet. He meandered into the kitchen, and Trowa could hear the sounds of tea being made.   He relaxed. Typically Quatre’s fugue state self didn’t do such mundane things as make tea.

 

A few minutes later, Quatre made his way back into the living room, settling into a stuffed armchair with a cup of tea. He took a small sip, savoring the warmth.

 

“So what’s the story behind the circus act in our bedroom?”

 

If Trowa had been eating or drinking anything, he’d have choked on it.

 

Quatre goggled at him as he laughed until tears streamed down his face and his sides ached. Even after he got himself back under control the occasional little huff still burbled its way to the surface.

 

“Did you happen to notice whose bed sheets that ingenious little contraption was made out of?”

 

Quatre’s eyes widened comically, then he dropped his head backwards onto the chair and groaned. Luckily, he kept a firm grip on the tea. “Oh nooooooo! Me again?”

 

Trowa smirked, unable to resist the opportunity to poke a little fun at the oh-so-polite proper young gentleman.

 

“Ohhhhhh yes. Turns out you’ve been practicing your acrobatic maneuvers when I’m not around. I caught you red-handed this afternoon though.” Trowa’s eyes taking a similar path to the one he’d received earlier in the afternoon. “It’s an act worth watching though. I’d certainly pay to see it again,” he purred, “I didn’t realize you were so _flexible_.” He watched as a spectacular blush worked its way up from below his friend’s tank top all the way to his hairline.

 

He turned back to his book and pretended not to notice when his companion bolted from the room, tea and all.

 

Trowa idly wondered if it was a full body flush.

 

*

 

Trowa felt like the meeting with the other pilots had gone well. In the end, he hadn’t mentioned anything about Quatre’s mental state, and no one had commented on his slightly odd behavior. Though he had noticed a few strange looks, mostly from Duo.

 

 

Before the meeting, Trowa had secured them a new apartment, closer to L3’s largest university center, where a couple of young, unknown faces wouldn’t attract any undue attention. He’d leased the apartment under one of the unused false identities the doctors had provided him with during the war, and he’d gotten basic utilities hooked up using one of Quatre’s.

 

On return from the safe house meeting, they had moved straight into the new location. Neither one of them had much in the way of material goods and both the old and new apartments had come furnished, so all they needed was their personal items.

 

The trapeze somehow got tossed in a duffle destined for the new place, much to Quatre’s chagrin.

 

Over the next few months, they settled into a routine. There wasn’t much to be done, especially as they were subsisting on Trowa’s wartime slush fund and didn’t need to work, so mostly it was just time spent getting to know each other.

 

He was the first real friend Trowa had ever had. He was starting to suspect he was half in love with the young man, but he kept that to himself. Presumably Quatre had enough on his mind.

 

Quatre was slipping into his fugue states more often, and the persona that was emerging on that side was... interesting. Gone were the days of simple cereal mistakes, this Quatre was manic, more often than not, and a bit hedonistic. And more than a bit mischievous.

 

It wasn’t a problem, per se, but it made Trowa wary of leaving the house. They had discovered that Quatre in his normal state of mind wasn’t susceptible to any _suggestion_ from Trowa that would prevent an incident. Only the altered Quatre responded to his pushing.

 

Trowa often came home from trips to the grocery store to find the tins in the pantry alphabetized, or organized by color, or once by scientific genus name. He’d found Quatre furiously scrubbing an already sparkling tub. Organizing the closet by clothing type, sleeve length, season and color. In that order.

 

He also seemed to find it unbearably amusing to make lewd remarks and cop the occasional feel, whenever possible. Trowa had found himself backed into a corner with an armful of arduous blonde on more than one occasion since the incident with the trapeze. Not that Trowa minded that, in theory, but it was strange and uncomfortable with Quatre not in his right mind. It felt weirdly like cheating, which made absolutely no sense on any front.

 

But they managed well enough. Trowa started taking Quatre with him if he had to go out for more than a short trip, because he knew he could keep a good handle on any of his stranger habits in public, and he came home to fewer surprises that way. They got closer as the days passed, blurring the lines of friendship a bit. Overall Trowa felt that he was probably as happy as he could expect to be, given his history, and Quatre seemed ok.

 

About 9 months after their relocation they saw the news broadcast.

 

“Quatre Winner missing – manhunt colony wide. More at 7!”

 

“Well, fuck.” Trowa muttered.

 

 

Duo called.

 

“Tro, man, what the fuck?”

 

“Hi Duo, it’s so nice to hear from you. Why yes, we’re doing quite well, thank you for asking, and yourself?”

 

“Cut the cute Barton, you know why I’m callin’.”

 

“First of all, I can’t get rid of the cute. It’s an integral part of who I am. Second of all, no, why are you calling? You know I didn’t kidnap him, for chrissake.”

 

“Ok well you wanna tell me why the fuck everyone **on the goddamn planet and in space is looking for him**?”

 

Ah, there it was. He did so enjoy riling Duo up. “He doesn’t want to go back to L4.”

 

“He just **doesn’t wanna go back**? Ok, well, why the hell not?” skepticism colored the braided pilot’s voice.

 

Trowa closed his eyes. Frustration bubbled up, but he forced it back down. “He’s happy here. They just want to use him to run the company. He’s not interested in being a corporate mogul. He’s got 29 sisters, who would _want_ to go back to that? Take your pick.” He ticked off all the answers to Duo’s questions before the braided man could really get wound up.

 

He could practically _hear_ Duo rolling his eyes. “Whatever. Ok, well let me talk to the little jerk. Maybe he’ll let me go impersonate him and be King of L4 for a while.”

 

Trowa glanced at Quatre out of the corner of his eye. He was in no shape to talk to anyone, but especially not Duo, of all people. He’d been in and out of it all day, each subsequent retreat into his own mind a bit more outlandish than the last. Currently he was lounging on the couch in nothing but a pair of cotton shorts, tossing throwing knives at a makeshift target he’d pinned across the room. Every time Trowa so much as looked at him he got a predatory smile on his face. Trowa’d had to put him out of his lap half a dozen times already.

 

His patience was wearing thin.

 

“He’s not available right now Duo. I’ll have him call you later.”

 

There was a strange little pause while Duo weighed his words. When he spoke it was in a tone Trowa remembered from the war. “If I don’t hear back from him in the next 24 hours Trowa, I’m coming to see the two of you.” Another pause. “We’re _friends_ after all, aren’t we? And we haven’t seen each other in a while. Months. I miss you guys. Maybe I’ll come for a little visit. Oh, say, a few weeks. They wouldn’t mind giving me some time off here, I’m sure.”

 

Trowa was going to strangle someone. “Yes, Duo, I’m sure we’d love to see you. I’ll have Quatre call you later on. Good night.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

 

He hated when Duo got the last word.

 

He flopped down on the armchair in a huff, ignoring the couch his roommate was sprawled on, and picked up his book. He couldn’t concentrate though, because he could feel eyes on him.

 

Quatre was giving him that Look again – the _inappropriate_ one. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

 

Strong, warm hands were suddenly rubbing his neck and upper back. Trowa closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He could feel the tension in his back and shoulders releasing as the fingers rubbed along the sides of his neck and under his ears. He felt a change in the air as Quatre moving around to the front of the chair, fingers gently scratching his scalp. Trowa leaned his head back, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks.

 

And then a warm, nearly naked body dropped into his lap. Trowa’s eyes snapped open and he jerked his head up to meet amused, mischievous blue eyes. The blonde head tilted to the side as clever fingers began massaging down his arms and chest.

 

Was the temperature going up in here?

 

Trowa knew he should move. He _knew_ he should get up, dump Quatre off of his lap again, and give the pilot another _push_ to get him to go to sleep for the night.

 

But he couldn’t find the motivation to do it. Instead he just watched Quatre’s face as the other boy rubbed his shoulders. Looked for signs of the boy he knew and cared about, hidden somewhere in his own mind.

 

Quatre slid his hips forward, smirking, and the introspective moment ended. Trowa shifted, intending to stand up and force him off of his lap, when the shorter pilot darted in and pressed his lips to Trowa’s. He didn’t have time to do more than register a soft press of warm lips, a quick swipe of tongue, and then the other boy was gone, dancing away before Trowa could do anything.

 

Trowa blew out an exasperated breath. “And I’m done. Bed. It’s time for bed.”

 

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that for _weeks_ ,” came the sly response.

 

Trowa rolled his eyes. “To sleep, Quatre, we’re going to sleep.”

 

“You’re no fun at ALL.”

 

The next morning Trowa could see a fluff of blonde hair sticking out of the blankets on the other side of the room as he got up to make coffee. It had taken a firmer suggestion than usual to get the other boy to sleep in his own bed, and Trowa had slept restlessly, some part of him afraid it wasn’t going to take. He stumbled out to the kitchen, yawning.

 

He wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to get the _push_ to work last night, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was because his heart hadn’t really been in the suggestion in the first place.

 

He was halfway through his second cup of coffee before Quatre made his way down the hall to join him.

 

“Good morning Trowa,” he said around a yawn, pouring a cup of coffee.

 

“Morning Quatre. Sleep ok?”

 

There was a faint redness on the other boy’s face that made Trowa wonder, but all he said was “Yes, fine, thanks.” Trowa was relieved that he seemed to be back to himself, at least for now. He needed a break.

 

And Trowa needed to talk to him about what happened last night, while he was in his right mind.

 

“Good. Call Duo this morning. He threatened to use us as a vacation destination if he didn’t hear back from you today.”

 

Quatre looked just a bit alarmed at the prospect, though Trowa wasn’t sure if it was the idea of Duo coming to stay with them for a _vacation_ , or the thought that someone else might see his episodes. He took his coffee over by the phone and dialed out.

 

“Good morning, Duo.”

 

“Yo, Q-ball.   Was starting to think Trowa had you squirreled away as some kinda personal harem boy over there, wouldn’t even let you loose to come to the phone!”

 

The light flush that had been on his cheeks before he called now bloomed to a full-fledged embarrassed crimson. He groaned. “Oh my God, Duo is that all you called to say?”

 

“Yep, pretty much. Seein’ as how the whole Earth Sphere thinks you’ve been kidnapped for nefarious purposes, figured I’d better make sure the nefarious purposes were ones you’d enjoy!”

 

“I am **fine** Duo. I was napping when you called yesterday.”

 

Trowa wandered off into the living room to give them some time to talk, making himself comfortable on the couch.

 

Surprisingly, Quatre joined him on the other end only a few minutes later. “That was fast,” he remarked, sipping his coffee.

 

“Despite his lewd remarks, I think he was genuinely just making sure I was ok. Not that he doesn’t trust you, but with the news reports and my lack of communication because of my... problem, I’m sure he was feeling nervous. It should be fine now.”

 

_There’s never going to be a better opening than that._

 

“Speaking of lewd remarks...” Trowa sat his coffee down on the nearby table and looked at Quatre, carefully choosing his words. “How much do you remember about what goes on when you’re... not yourself?”

 

Quatre looked apprehensive. “Not much, really. Most of what I remember are vague... impressions of emotion. I don’t even know if they’re yours, or mine. Sometimes I remember snippets. Conversations, or disjointed actions. What I do remember seems like scenes from a movie – like I’m watching myself through a television screen, detached from the action.” He paused. “Why do you ask? Did something... bad... happen?”

 

“No. Nothing bad,” Trowa said, slowly. He pondered his next words. “You’re just very... tactile.”

 

“Tactile.” Quatre fairly spit the word out. “What are you trying to say, Trowa?”

 

Trowa ran his hands through his hair. This wasn’t starting off well. “Affectionate?” He cringed.

 

“What. Did. I. DO?”

 

“You just... spend a lot of time... trying to climb in my lap... and trying to kiss me.”

 

Quatre gaped at him. “Are you... are you telling me I spend all my time... trying to seduce you?!”

 

Trowa choked on a laugh. It probably wouldn’t go over very well. “Well, no, not **all** of your time. Just... you know... a fair amount.”

 

“A fair amount?!” Quatre dragged his hands through his hair to the back of his head, bowing his neck to look at his knees. Trowa could see the makings of a rather impressive blush beginning creep up his ears.

 

“Quatre, it’s fine I – “

 

“Fine?! It’s not **fine!** Oh my God, am I taking ‘no’ for an answer?!”

 

“I’m sure you would, if I said no. It’s not like I can’t handle myself. Gundam pilot, remember?”

 

Quatre was shaking his head, a mixture of embarrassed and infuriated. He opened his mouth to speak, several times, but stopped himself each time, apparently unable to find words. Then a strange look crossed his face, and he turned to look at Trowa. “What do you mean, **if** you said no? Are you not saying no?” The look turned calculating as possibilities crossed his mind.

 

Trowa could almost see a peek of the blonde’s other persona, like the conversation had caught his attention. He rolled his eyes, dispelling the disquieting thought. “I’m not carrying on a torrid affair with your alter-ego. I think you’d probably notice something amiss if I were.”

 

The hot, red blush was back. Embarrassment sparked his temper though, and the blonde shot back “Well if we’re not carrying on a... a torrid affair, as you said, then why are we talking about it?”

 

“Well, I’d kind of like to be. But I don’t want to take advantage.”

 

Stunned silence.

 

“Wait, what? You want to... what?” Quatre looked completely befuddled.

 

“Carry on a torrid affair. If you’re interested, of course.”

 

“With my alter-ego.” The statement was flat, disbelieving.

 

“No, idiot, with you.”

 

Quatre just stared at him. Trowa sighed.

 

_Stupid. This was a mistake._

 

“If you’re not interested, that’s fine Quatre. You seemed interested, or at least part of you does, but if you’re not I can respect that.   I can make you stop being so... friendly, if you’d like, as well.”

 

“You want... to have a relationship with me? Even though I’m crazy?”

 

Trowa studied Quatre’s face. He still looked confused, but strangely hopeful.

 

“Yes Quatre, that’s what I’m saying. I like the crazy parts too.”

 

He was suddenly in the familiar position of having a lap full of enthusiastic blonde. This time though, it was one fully in possession of his mental capabilities, and he was smiling a familiar, open smile. Trowa tilted his head to one side, they both leaned forward. They shared the warm press of soft lips, and the hint of a smile.

 

 

Despite Trowa’s patient acceptance, Quatre’s mental status didn’t magically get better. For a while, it continued to deteriorate. He finally seemed to reach a limit on how often he slipped into that other state, but his personality when he was ‘other’ became more developed. And Quatre seemed to suffer for it at the times when he wasn’t lost in his own mind – becoming quieter, less animated. He was more the grim pragmatist he had been at the height of the war than the cheerful young man Trowa had originally met.

 

None of that mattered to Trowa. He loved Quatre despite his little... eccentricities. Or maybe because of them – Trowa often felt if Quatre hadn’t needed him quite as much as he now did, then he would never have had anything to offer the blonde. If he had returned to L4 as his family demanded, perhaps nothing would ever have developed between the two of them, and Trowa wouldn’t have had the opportunity to explore the depth of his feelings.

 

They managed to fly under the radar, quietly living the bustling college town, avoiding Quatre’s sisters and the authorities, for almost two years before it all came crashing down.

 

Trowa unlocked the front of the apartment, bags from the grocery at his feet, senses attuned to anything out of the ordinary. From within the depths of the apartment he could hear sinister humming.

 

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Abandoning the bags, he crept silently into the apartment, pushing the door closed behind him.

 

He followed the sound to bedroom.

 

Pushing open the door, he was greeted by Quare looking particularly homicidal. He knew immediately he wasn’t dealing with the more... reasonable side of his boyfriend.

 

This was the part of Quatre that liked to come out and _play_.   Consequences be damned.

 

And to Trowa’s horror, there was a guy – maybe 20 years old – duct taped to a chair and gagged on the other side of the room. He looked like a gang member, though Trowa wasn’t sure which gang. He couldn’t see enough of his skin to make out the identifying tattoos. He closed his eyes.

 

_Well, fuck._

 

“Hello lover,” Quatre purred, murderously cheerful, “look what the cat dragged in.”

 

Trowa looked. He appeared unharmed, at least, though terrified.

 

_Smarter than he looks. Though apparently not smart enough not to show up here._

“Quatre, what did you do?” He kept his voice perfectly calm and level, hoping his blasé attitude would carry over to the blonde. He very carefully did not look at the man making alarmed noises from behind duct tape.

 

“Oh _I_ didn’t do anything. This rather _delightful_ young man decided to come round and help himself to our personal belongings. Unfortunately for him, I’m rather attached to them.” Quatre was casually tossing a very sharp knife up and catching it, eyes glinting.

 

_Cute._

 

“Quatre, we need to let him go.” Still with the calm, reasonable voice.

 

The blonde stomped his foot, turning a glare on Trowa. “I don’t **want** to let him go. He broke in **our home**!”

 

“It’s not going to **be** our home if you murder a gang member! We’ll have to leave!” Trowa’s patience was wearing very thin.

 

Quatre crossed his arms across his chest, pouting. Trowa tentatively _pushed_ at his mind. “Quatre – “

 

But he was too late. A sharp flash of silver flew across the room.

 

_Goddamn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes:
> 
> As always, many, many thanks to ChronicWhimsy for beta reading, correcting my numerous grammatical errors, and being a lovely sounding board and degreaser. This story is 1000% better because of her!
> 
> As I’ve mentioned, this story is Suicide Squad inspired, and Trowa and Quatre are meant to take on the Joker/Harley roles here. To that end, yes, I’ve given Quatre something of a disassociative/depersonalization disorder. It’s not meant to be medically accurate; it’s meant to bridge the gap between his canon personality and the Harley Quinn persona I’m aiming for. I’ve changed the dynamic for Harley/Joker to accommodate Trowa and Quatre’s relationship, but I still want the unpredictable behavior Harley is known for to be prominent throughout. Some of what’s happening is going to get more of an explanation later on, but none of it is meant to be an accurate portrayal of mental illness or disorder.


	4. Odin's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heero is keeping a close watch over the growth of peace and pacifism, and he's not really all that impressed.

_ “Killers everywhere, it ain’t no place to run _

_ Forgive me for my wrongs, I have just begun” _

Purple Lamborghini – Skrillex & Rick Ross

 

 

* * *

Heero had spent most of the pilots’ meeting dividing his attention between the pilots’ discussion and the tablet in his hand.  He wasn’t ignoring the others, but he trusted their intent, which was more than he could say for the goings-on that were unfolding on the handheld screen.

He had hacked the ESUN Council building’s security and was observing the policy debates – specifically he was watching the inception of their new peacekeeping force.  

He was not impressed.  What they expected to accomplish by de-weaponizing the entire planet before dealing with the criminal elements, he didn’t know, but it was idiotic.  And dangerous.

After they all went their separate ways, he spent the first few months he was on Earth establishing a cyber security company – Lowe Security (he was sure Duo would appreciate the pun) – and a matching paper trail.  He anticipated that he was going to need to travel to keep an eye on things, and having a ready-made excuse for doing so was easier than constantly sneaking across international borders. The cash from security jobs wasn’t a bad deal, either, and a lot of it could be done remotely.

It didn’t take long – less than 6 months – for the criminal enterprises positioned around the globe to start taking advantage of the disarmament process, and that was all his nightmares made reality.  His irritation with the situation was impossible to verbalize.

Heero’s self-appointed mission was to protect the peace he’d sweated, bled, and nearly died to create.   He was an MS pilot – he didn’t have any political training.  He didn’t have any governing experience.  He certainly had no idea how to use words to convince anyone to put down their weapons.

But he did have other skills. 

His first stop was a nondescript locker in the walkway under the Osaka shopping complex in Japan. It was technically part of the train station, but almost no one knew the lockers existed, so there wasn’t much demand.  Keeping one locker perpetually in use didn’t attract much attention. One of his very first hacking jobs had been to override the timing system in the automated locker so that Odin could store anything he wanted there indefinitely.  The locker had been intended as a back-up plan, in the event that everything went disastrously wrong.  He was pleased to find that his hacking skills were still holding their own, despite being several years old.  

Inside, Heero found a long aluminum case, nondescript black duffel, and an envelope addressed to “Junior.”  He assumed that it was for him.  Odin had died before he’d been given his codename in Operation Meteor.  He cleared the locker out and left without a backwards glance.  

Later, in his hotel room, he opened and inspected everything that he’d retrieved. The envelope, Heero put aside for now.  He was unsure what was inside, and equally unsure that he was ready to find out.  The old man had never pulled his punches, physical or metaphorical, and Heero doubted that he had done so in a letter written – essentially – on his deathbed.  

The aluminum case held, as expected, Odin’s Remington 700 sniper rifle.  The corners of Heero’s lips curled up, almost wistful, as an old memory floated its way to the front of his brain. Odin had called the thing “Lucy” – though whether he had done it as cover or out of some morbid sentimentality, Heero couldn’t say.  Lifting it out of the case and examining it carefully, he could see that it still appeared to be in perfect working condition, despite the long years of storage. He knew it needed some basic maintenance and to be zeroed, but overall, it was pristine.  He ran his fingers along the barrel, thinking of hours spent with Odin learning timing and how to make precise scope adjustments.  His fingers brushed against something that felt out of place along the bottom of the wooden stock.  Turning it to the side he found words engraved along the bottom edge.

_ God made men different sizes but Sam Colt made them all equal. _

Heero snorted, carefully returning the rifle to its case, and switched his attention to the duffle.  Inside he found all of the tools to hand-load his own ammunition – a reloading press, carbide dies, powder measure, and a scale.  He also found Odin’s matching custom Sig P-226 pistols, which surprised him because he had never known the man to go on any job without them.  Heero had first learned his own methodical practically at the man’s knee, but Odin had treated the sigs with reverence that suggested something almost spiritual.   The bag also held ready-made ammunition for all three guns and a Predator tactical knife – all the comforts of home, as far as Heero was concerned.

  
*

Heero had carefully chosen his base of operations.  He’d wanted a European city, centrally located, but with multiple options for transportation.  Budapest was large, cosmopolitan, and bisected by the Danube.  These provided him with built in cover, escape routes, and business opportunity.  

One of the main deciding factors, however, was the crime.  Budapest had a very low rate of homicide and  _ per capita _ crime; but Heero was drawn to it because it had been an epicenter of organized crime since the late 20 th century.  Nothing happened in the city, and throughout most of Europe, without someone in Budapest instigating or at least being aware of it.  Heero had only to tap into that network in order to access everything he needed.

He just needed a way in.

Cyber security provided him with that avenue.  He started going to security conventions.  He always presented himself as the hired hack – of course the company was owned by Mr. Lowe, and Heero worked for him, but he could certainly assist you with whatever you needed.  

Mr. Lowe had always just stepped away, or been called on urgent business, or was feeling a bit peckish.

Finally, the perfect opportunity presented itself.  

Heero surreptitiously observed the interaction going on next to his table.  He had purposefully ensured (through judicious use of his own hacking skills, an irony not lost on him) that his little company booth was positioned immediately between two of the bigger cyber security companies present at the convention for just such a moment as this.  Clarity Ventures, the company represented to his left, was pitching their newest website securing technology to a group of four well-dressed businessmen.  Heero noticed their name badges indicated they were affiliated with a large, international bank.  

_ Perfect. _  Heero got to work.  

Heero waited until the presentation wound to an end, and the men extracted themselves gracefully.  Just as they were about to walk past his table he spoke.

“I just found a flaw in your website.”

Two of the men pretended not to hear him, but one man turned, visibly affronted.  The fourth man shook his head slightly, as though he knew how well this  _ wasn’t  _ going to go.  “Excuse me?” 

_ The security expert, I presume. _

“I just found an exploitable security flaw in your website.  And I can show you how to fix it.”  He spun his laptop around, inviting the man who had spoken – his nametag read Fredek – to lean over and see for himself.  

“How did you  _ do _ that?”  Fredek asked, scrolling across the screen Heero had open.

He shrugged.  “That’s what we do.  We find and fix website vulnerabilities post-production.  Websites change frequently, since they’re constantly under re-development to keep content fresh and customers interested.  But web developers aren’t security experts and every code change leaves opportunity for a vulnerability that can open your site to hackers.  We also offer training to the developers themselves, at an additional cost, to teach them how to prevent the issues from making it to production level.”

He now had all four men’s attention.  And several other people as well.  It was risky, Heero knew, but if it worked...

And it did.  

Fredek sat with Heero for over an hour as Heero showed him the vulnerabilities he was easily able to find within the coding and deftly explained how and where the damage could be repaired.  He showed him the website scanning technology that he had designed and how it could be implemented to scan regularly for vulnerabilities.  They talked services and rates.  The other men – one of them the bank manager for the Budapest branch – looked first bored, then impressed.  Heero was offering something no one else at the convention was, and they all knew it.

In the end, they hired Heero – well, Lowe Security – to secure their entire system.

Which was exactly what he wanted.  With complete access to the bank’s website coding, it was a simple matter to create a backdoor into the electronic financial records, giving him access to transaction information throughout the server.  

The references from this job would give him opportunity to get his hands on other banks and their systems, and eventually other companies in other industries, some of which were probably fronts for money-laundering.

Now all he had to do was follow the money.

It took some time for Heero to become familiar enough with banking transactions in general to be able to identify the ones that seemed... suspect.  He started out small, concentrating on the city of Budapest itself, watching transactions that seemed redundant or unusual.  Businesses paying themselves for services that weren’t outsourced, large cash transactions that were shuffled and split up through multiple accounts, companies with large cash input that didn’t seem to actually offer anything to customers, that sort of thing.  Heero used the financials to build a visual web of which companies were illegitimate – then he started physically watching them.  

He set up surveillance on companies and subsequently individuals he identified as crucial to the organization, learning their routines, following their habits.  Building another web – this time of the people and their activities.

Eventually he had a well-researched, nearly complete picture of organized crime throughout Budapest.  So he started following those threads outside the city, learning where  _ this _ family connected with  _ that _ enterprise.  Looking for the bigger picture.

It was about this time that he conceded to the need hire someone to help manage the day-to-day activities of his security company.  He needed to be able to travel to other cities to reconnoiter suspected connections, but he was more in-demand as a security consultant than ever, and between surveillance and his day job, he was stretched to the limit.  

Heero would’ve preferred to involve someone he trusted, but he hadn’t spoken to any of the other pilots in over a year, other than to send off the occasional encrypted status update verifying he was alive.  Trowa and Quatre had gone completely underground, Wufei was in China the last he had heard, and Duo was either on L2 or with the Sweepers, thus all of them were unavailable to him.

So he took out an ad.

He reasoned that he could likely do a thorough enough background check on anyone who applied to allay his concerns, and all he needed was a glorified secretary anyway.  Someone to keep his calendar and travelling dates straight, and answer the phones.  Heero wasn’t too keen on that part anyway, preferring email.  

The response was... overwhelming.  His company was, perhaps, more popular than he had realized, and apparently people were eager to be a part of an ‘up and coming’ cyber security startup.  Heero sighed.  This was probably going to take a while. 

He started by narrowing down the candidates significantly.  He ousted people with programming or hacking backgrounds out of hand – that might be an asset to someone whose company was truly for security and not a cover for illegal hacking and surveillance, but he didn’t want anyone with even a  _ possibility _ of figuring out what he was doing anywhere near his operation.  Then he eliminated candidates with little work experience or with work experience that wasn’t relevant to what he needed – students, recent graduates, fast food workers, waitresses, etc.  From there he still had a sizeable pile of applicants, but at least they were a good pool to pull from. 

After that his choices became more haphazard.  He dropped applicants for typos.  He dropped them for poor resume layout.  Sometimes he just didn’t feel like reading a resume and so it went in the garbage bin.  Anything to narrow the field.

In the end he decided on a young woman with an honors degree in English and several years’ experience working in a law firm.  That had been the deciding factor – Heero hoped she was experienced in phones and customer relations, as well as client confidentiality and the fine art of ‘not asking too many questions.’  

_ Ms. Alam, _

_ I recently received your application for the receptionist position at Lowe Security.  I would like to schedule a time to speak with you at your convenience.  Please respond with a favorable time and date. _

_ Regards, _

_ Odin Lowe _

Heero shot the email off, and settled back to wait.  It didn’t take long.

_ Mr. Lowe, _

_ I would be delighted to meet with you at your soonest availability.  I am free for the remainder of the week. _

_ Alina Alam _

Heero smirked, and responded with a ‘please come at your convenience, I am in office all afternoon’ and the company address.

Alina Alam arrived only two hours after Heero sent off the email.  He had been thoroughly enmeshed in untangling the complicated finances of a shadow corporation in Brussels when the buzzer sounded.  He withdrew reluctantly – there was something dancing on the edges of his awareness that he couldn’t quite place just yet.  The particular company he was trying to unravel seemed to have its finger in a lot of pies, but he couldn’t pinpoint to whose hand the fingers were attached.

Making his way to the door, he glanced at the security cameras to confirm his visitor.  Outside the door was a short young woman with warm olive skin in a smart business suit and a green headscarf.  He buzzed her in.

He held out his hand to greet her.  “Ms. Alam.”

“Mr. Lowe?” She had a low, warm British accent, but she looked at him questioningly, tentatively accepting his handshake.  

_ Smart girl. _

“Not exactly,” he responded, turning to sit on a chair in the client area of the office.  There was small table with another chair on the other side, but she didn’t move to take it.  “My name is Heero.  Mr. Lowe is unavailable, but I do all of the computer work here, and I’d be happy to talk to you about the position and company, if you’d like.”

She sat down in the remaining chair, but looked wary.  Heero couldn’t fault her instincts.  He was, clearly, very young to be running an international cyber security company, and he presumed she was re-thinking her decision to come here so rashly after only a simple email.  

He sighed.  This was the same problem he was always going to have, regardless of whom he tried to hire.  Everyone was going to take one look at him and be immediately suspicious.

He took a gamble. 

“Ms. Alam, Odin Lowe won’t be joining us today. Or ever.  I’m sorry to have deceived you, but the company and all of its records are registered under his name.  He was...” Heero paused, momentarily unable to articulate his relationship with Odin, “my father.  He died several years ago.  I’m a computer prodigy, but I understand that no one is going to take someone of my age seriously.  As you’re no doubt aware, the company has grown substantially and it has become apparent I need an assistant.  I’m looking for someone to help manage the day-to-day aspects of the business.  I travel frequently for both business and my own personal interests.  If that’s not something you’re receptive to, I understand, and you’re free to go, though I’d appreciate your discretion.”

Alina had watched him throughout his explanation, initially tense, but gradually relaxing.  She smiled.

“So, Mr. Lowe, what exactly does this role entail?”

Heero didn’t correct her assumption.  The less she knew about him, the better, frankly, and explaining his name was more than he was prepared to do.  He’d been ‘Junior’ before he’d been Heero, and even his current moniker was a code name from a mission long since complete.

“I need someone to manage phone calls, make appointments, and keep track of my schedule.  I’ll set my own schedule, so appointments would need to be set around it.  I travel frequently, and I can’t rearrange the trips to accommodate clients.  I’d expect you to sign a stringent confidentiality agreement, and you’d have to be able to put off clients that want to meet with ‘Odin Lowe’ without raising too many questions. There may be some minor paperwork or billing to file.  I’d want you to manage to office, especially when I’m out of town.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of confidentiality agreement?”

Heero looked into her wide hazel eyes, weighing the unspoken implications behind her question.  She had worked in the field of law, after all.  “Just a standard non-disclosure agreement.  First and foremost, you’d not be able to tell anyone that Odin Lowe doesn’t actually exist.  Beyond that, anything you learn about the workings of the company or the nature of the software I develop would be protected information.”

“And the pay?”

Heero had already decided on a sum somewhat higher than the going rate, as he wanted the added incentive to inspire loyalty. Plus, he never, ever wanted to go through this again. He named it.

“Well Mr. Lowe, I’d say you’ve gotten yourself a new secretary.”

He smiled.  “Call me Heero.”  

He held his hand out to her, and as she gripped his hand in agreement he said, “There’s one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“If I were to... disappear... I’d need you to make a few phone calls.”

“I’d expect so!  The police, obviously?”

“No, not to the police at all.  Just to certain friends of mine.”

 

*  
  


Heero took a breath, sighting down the rifle’s scope at his target.  He released his breath halfway, held it, and squeezed the trigger with firm, consistent pressure.  He stayed in place only long enough to see the target drop in his scope, and then he was up, moving, gathering up his items and retreating from the roof he’d situated himself on.

The bullet had reached the target before the report from the rifle, but someone would be looking for the source, and soon.  He intended to be gone before that happened.  Just inside the roof access door he stripped off the mask and body armor he wore while ‘working.’  The suit itself was bullet and explosion resistant, and he’d recently been experimenting with a weave that was electrically non-conductive to protect himself from taser weapons. It also made him nearly invisible to cameras or the naked eye, just in case a random helicopter happened to do a fly by. The mask had the same properties, with the additional benefit of enhancing his hearing, and a mounted, adjustable display that provided him with thermal and night vision, plus magnification if he didn’t have his rifle.  The entire getup was of his own design, and he was rather pleased with it.

Heero secured his rifle in the hollow space in the back of the guitar case he had ordered and modified specifically for this purpose.  He pulled out a pair of jeans and flannel overshirt, tucking his suit and mask carefully into the now-empty niche, and fastened the ‘bottom’ of the case, complete with guitar, back into place.  He smirked as he tugged the jeans on and threw the shirt over his shoulders.  Duo had always made fun of his shorts and tank top, but Heero never did anything without reason.  Bike shorts slid easily under everything from flight suits to stolen uniforms.  

Of course, he’d also stopped wearing them in public, which he now understood was part of the reason for teasing.

Skintight spandex drew attention, as it turned out, if you weren’t actually biking.

He descended the stairs in dark silence, slipping out into an alleyway between buildings.  The entire exercise had taken less than 5 minutes, and Prague was now one human trafficker less dangerous.  Heero slipped the strap to the case across his shoulders, tucked his fingers into his pockets, and eased, unnoticed, into the minimal foot traffic on the sidewalk.  

He could hear sirens approaching from the other direction, but he ambled nonchalantly towards his hotel.

  
  


It had been almost 2 years since Heero had realized that Preventers was in over its head trying to maintain the peace against armed terrorist groups and organized crime.  In that time he had managed to track down, catalogue, and eliminate a number of targets that were tipping the balance too far to the wrong side.  He didn’t keep a strict count of the number of criminals he dispatched, but it was enough that people were starting to notice.

It was first picked up by the media.  Some enterprising journalist noticed that a growing number of dead men were turning up, shot between the eyes.  Though that wasn’t the only way Heero had eliminated a target – he had a wide variety of skills, after all – it was the method that was gaining notoriety.  A little investigative journalism later it became common knowledge that someone was knocking off felonious thugs.  

There was a bit of a debate about whether or not this seemingly do-gooder was, well, good, or not, but when no one stepped in to the power vacuum he left behind, they decided he was at least trying.

Then they started coming up with the nicknames.  

Heero scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands.  They were dry and itchy, and rubbing them felt a bit like grinding sand into his corneas.  

He’d only gotten in from Zurich a few hours before, and he was currently in his office sorting through the newest data his scanning program had delivered.  There was still  _ something _ in Brussels that he couldn’t pin down.  For months he’d been watching things swirl around the city, but whatever was going on there, he still didn’t have a clear picture of it.  He was going to have to go there soon, try to get a feel for the situation.

A pastry and a cup of coffee appeared at his elbow, along with the morning edition of the paper, distracting him from his thoughts.  He looked up to meet laughing hazel eyes.

“Good morning.  Have you slept at all?”

Heero groaned.  “Yes.  Some.  What is this?”  He nudged the plate with his elbow.

“It’s food.  You might try eating it.  And look at the paper – there’s another article about that nutcase who likes to kill crooks.  They’ve given him a stupid name.  Barmy.”  Alina was still shaking her head as she made her way back to her desk at the front of the office.

He unfolded the paper, sipping cautiously at the coffee.   The pastry he ignored entirely.

**DEADSHOT STRIKES AGAIN.  SUSPECTED TERRORIST KILLED IN LANGSTRASSE**

**The Man Who Never Misses cleaning up crime!** _ (more on page 3) _

Heero didn’t even bother reading the rest of the article, just tossed the paper in the bin.  

_ Who comes up with these  _ **_names_ ** _? _

 

_ * _

 

 

Une looked up at her office door burst open.

“I want this taken care of.  Immediately!”

She watched as a paper was dropped on her desk.  Taking it, she scanned the headline, eyebrows raised.

She looked up at Minister Von Holck. The man was practically vibrating with rage. “What would you like me to do, Minister?”

“I want this... criminal... apprehended!” He practically spat the words at her.

Une put the paper down, smoothing it out on her desk as she thought carefully before she spoke.  While she was certainly aware that there was, apparently, an international vigilante, and she was more than curious who it was, she hadn’t intended to waste any time trying to figure it out.  Well, not as long as he was saving her the trouble of killing the bad guys herself, anyway.  “Minister, we’re investigating the situation.  If we’re able to determine who this person is, we’ll arrest him for his crimes. But to be frank, we haven’t the faintest clue who’s behind these shootings, and we don’t even know where to start. “

_ Honestly, this ‘Deadshot’ character is doing us a favor.  I’m surprised that  _ **_this_ ** _ is the thing that’s finally brought you to my office.  Normally you wouldn’t deign to bring yourself to  _ **_me_ ** _.   _

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, though she thought she had a rather good poker face, because Von Holck leaned menacingly over her desk.  “You will make catching this criminal your top priority Director.  He is killing people, and he is  **making us look bad** .  I expect you to devote your best resources to stopping him, spare no expense. And I want regular updates on your progress.”  He turned and stormed out, leaving her office door hanging open.

Une watched him go with narrowed eyes.  

 

*

  
  


Heero was in Bruges this week, ostensibly on business.  One of the local branches of a bank he worked with regularly was having mysterious system errors and Heero had been required to physically come to the branch to have a look at the system.

Of course the ‘errors’ were entirely of Heero’s making.

The Port of Zeebrugge was one of Europe’s busiest, handling everything from ferries and passenger transport to liquid natural gas and automobiles.  And, Heero suspected, other, less savory imports.  He believed that large shipments of illegal arms were being received in Zeebrugge and then broken down into smaller cargo and dispersed to mercenary groups and terrorist organizations.  There was also the first real sign he’d been able to see of a connection to that nebulous  _ something _ going on in Brussels.

So, after taking care of the security issues at the bank, he was now playing at being a tourist.  Bruges was a beautiful medieval canal city with plenty of museums, theaters, and landmarks. He’d told Alina he planned to make a vacation out of the trip and cleared 2 weeks out of his schedule.  He’d had her book him into a hotel near the port so that he could be ‘close to the beach’ and she could not have chosen a more perfect location if he’d explicitly told her he wanted to be able to spy on the port all hours of the day and night.   He was less than a mile from the port itself, easily able to observe ships coming and going, and only about 16 kilometers from the city of Bruges.  

At the moment he was stretched out on a lounge chair he’d set up on the sand, surreptitiously observing the port movements from behind dark glasses.  It was a little cool for the beach, being mid September, but that suited his purposes since it meant less people to bother with.  He didn’t expect to see anything illegal happening in broad daylight.  Even if some of the port workers were bribed, the entire workforce couldn’t possibly be, so anything dubious would happen later.  He just wanted to get a feel for the traffic patterns and security measures during regular business hours.

He was planning on some unusual sight-seeing later.

Heero had been prepared to stake out the port for his entire ‘vacation’ and not find anything – he had no way of knowing when any illicit shipments were going to be arriving.  The signs he found in his hacked records had no pattern, sometimes several weeks passing between any financial exchanges.

On the third night, however, he hit pay dirt.  He noticed immediately that security was more lax than it had been the preceding two evenings, slipping quietly past large shipment containers.  Carefully staying out of sight, he worked his way around the port, looking for anything unusual.

Near the far west end of the port, near some recently unloaded shipping containers, he found it.  He heard the voices first.  He didn’t recognize the language, but no matter.  He pulled out a small recording device and flicked it on, moving in closer for a clearer recording and to catch a glimpse of the speakers.  The port was closed at night, and no loading or unloading was done due to safety concerns over the lack of lighting, so whatever was going on was suspicious at best.  Creeping closer, he leaned his head around the large container he was behind.  

It was dark, but he had the scope from his ‘work’ suit.  Clipping it over his head, he switched on the infrared mode.  Two men were standing near another container, one tall and apparently bald, the other shorter and stocky, wearing the heavy boots and safety hat of a dockworker.   Infrared didn’t give much opportunity to make out detailed features.  Hopefully he would get some much needed information from the recording later.  The taller man seemed to be giving instructions, judging by his stance and body language, with his companion only offering short responses.  

The exchange went on for just a few minutes before the men broke apart and left in different directions. There had been something that looked like a handshake or exchange at the end, but it had happened fast.  Heero made a split second decision and followed the bald man. If something unauthorized was going on, it was likely the dock worker was being bribed, with the taller man doing the bribing.

_ Follow the money. _

He trailed Bald Man to a black Audi A5 just outside the port exit.  With no way to follow a vehicle, he noted the license plate and faded into the darkness before his target started the car and ruined his night vision.

Back in his hotel he plugged the recorder into his laptop to download and translate.  While he was at it, he went ahead and hacked the Belgian automobile registration system and started a search for the license plate of the Audi. 

The laptop beeped to indicate the download was complete.  Heero pulled up the transcription, but he still didn’t recognize the language.   He pasted it into a translation program.  The beginning was garbled, probably because Heero had arrived in the middle of the conversation, and it had taken him a moment to switch the recorder on, but the rest was clear. 

_ “I have another appointment on Tuesday.” _

_ “Tuesday is bad.  We have many shipments due that day.” _

_ “I don’t care.  There’s a pressing need for my merchandise in many places. I have deadlines to meet.” _

_ “Do you want the same arrangements as before?” _

_ “No.  I will pay extra for additional... discretion.  And extra help with distribution.” _

_ “How many extra distributors?” _

_ “Five.” _

_ “It will be very costly.” _

_ “Yes.  I’ve acquired some additional funding.  It won’t be a problem.” _

The transcription ended.  There was definitely something furtive going on, and Heero intended to find out what.  Tuesday was only five days away.  He checked the status of his records search.

The Audi was licensed to Belgian citizen Stojan Haak. Heero clicked the record.  Haak was 35 years old with an address in Bruges, on Zevensterrestraat.  They’d even helpfully included the man’s license photo.  It was definitely the bald man from the docks.

Heero smiled.   _ Time to go hunting. _

 

*

  
  


Stojan Haak was a very boring man.  

Heero had staked out his apartment for the last 5 days. He rented a nondescript sedan with dark windows and parked within sight of the apartment, moving the car regularly so he didn’t attract much notice.  Haak never made an appearance before mid-morning.  Heero had trailed the man as he led a life of mundane banality, observing as he did such exciting activities as watching boats sail by, getting lunch, and feeding ducks.  He never saw the man go to anything resembling a job, and it was this fact that kept Heero watching him.  He lived in a nice area near the city center - he had to have some way of making money.  He took several intense looking phone calls, but Heero wasn’t able to get close enough to overhear anything, even if he had spoken the language being used.

Monday night after he trailed Haak back to his apartment and waited to make sure he was staying in it (not that he had done anything else over the preceding days), Heero went back to his hotel room and started prepping for Tuesday night.  Because he couldn’t be  _ sure _ that whatever meeting was taking place at the docks, he would have to trail Haak all day so as not to lose track of him.  Therefore, anything Heero wanted to have on him that night, needed to be lightweight, discreet, and fit into a small pack.

Which mean his suit was out.  But he could take the scope.  He also packed up the sigs, predator knife, and mini recorder. A few extra toys. He stored all his gear in a small black backpack he’d brought for just such an occasion, taking care to make sure nothing would jingle or make noise, then settled down for a few hours of sleep.  He wanted to make sure he was back at the apartment bright and early.  

*

Heero was getting nervous. He was afraid he had missed Haak.  He had arrived back in the neighborhood before first light, parking in one of his usual spots, but it was late afternoon and he had yet to catch a glimpse of the man.  A few times he thought to leave, check out other places he had followed the man to, but restrained himself each time, reasoning that if he wasn’t gone, he might miss him.  And he still had a week left of his ‘vacation.’  He could always keep watching him.  Missing tonight’s events wouldn’t put an end to his entire plan.

Finally, just after dusk, he spotted Haak coming out of the building.  He was well-dressed in tailored slacks and a collared shirt.  He looked like a man on his way to a business meeting, not an illegal encounter.  As he climbed into the same dark Audi from before, Heero started his rental and pulled smoothly into traffic behind him. 

There was no leisurely drive tonight, Haak headed straight for the docks.  As traffic thinned out, Heero fell back, finally parking at the far boundaries of his own hotel parking lot and skirting the edges of the beach until he was at the same spot Haak had parked at the first night.  He arrived just in time to see the taller man get out of his car and head for the back entrance to the docks.  Heero followed at a distance, being careful to keep out of the man’s peripherals, noticing there were more vehicles in the lot as well, mostly trucks.  It was full-on dark by now, and Heero blended well in dark grey clothes, pulling on a stocking cap and gloves.  He adjusted his scope over the cap, but left it in place, flipped back behind his ear.

They made their way back to the same location Heero had first found Haak and his accomplice - near the back of the west side.  As they approached, Heero could hear the sounds of bodies moving and faint voices, so he trailed back even farther, keeping close to the shadows of the shipping containers.  When he judged he was near the original meeting place, he levered himself up the back of a shipping container using the tie bars on the doors.  He shimmied across the roof on his belly, careful not to bang the metal.  Carefully lifting his head, he peered over the edge, looking towards the sounds he could hear more clearly now.

_ Jackpot _ .  

Under banked lanterns and the careful supervision of the man Heero had been targeting for days, a group of 8 men were carefully unloading the cargo of two large shipping containers into smaller containers that two men together could easily carry. Unfortunately for them, the ‘cargo’ looked to be a large selection of fully automatic assault rifles.  He considered his options.  He had the two sigs with suppressors, plus 4 extra magazines, a tactical knife, and a double loop garrote.  It was more than enough firepower to deal with the men on the dock, assuming they didn’t pull out one of the M27s in retaliation.  But he hadn’t seen any magazines, just the guns.  

Still.  

It would be smarter to make a quick, clean hit and pull out.  Mostly likely the entire operation would fall apart without Haak.  And killing the dock workers might draw too much negative attention - they were probably all locals.  

Heero flipped his scope down over his eye, setting it for thermal imaging.  He watched for several minutes, carefully counting the men to make sure he didn’t miss a straggler.  Slowly, he pulled the sig from its holster and attached the suppressor. Sighting carefully down the barrel he waited for the perfect shot. 

Two quick, suppressed rounds later Haak and the dockworker Heero had seen him meet with the previous week were on the ground, and Heero was slipping quietly through the stacks of cargo containers before the other men even realized what had happened. Halfway through the parking lot he pulled out an unregistered prepaid cellphone and dialed the local law enforcement.  In rapid French, he reported the sounds of gunfire near the beach. 

Hanging up, he disassembled the phone and dropped the pieces in various trash cans. 

From his hotel room window he watched flashing lights converge on the docks. Turning back to the hotel room, he began packing away his arsenal from the night. As he slid the pistols back into their case, a worn envelope fluttered to the ground, its contents sliding across the wooden floor. A note and a photograph. He bent to pick them up.

In the same scratchy handwriting as a hastily written ‘Junior’ was a final missive. 

_ I loved her.  _

The photograph was a lovely young woman in traditional Japanese garb. Her lips twitched in a familiar wry grin, eyes sparkling with mirth. She was noticeably pregnant. It was dated AC 179. 

Heero traced calloused fingertips over his mother's face. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hats off to ChronicWhimsy for her fabulous beta reading! Also for her input regarding European cities and what types of breakfast stuffs one can find there. And, finally, for making sure that my British people don’t sound like a bad sitcom.
> 
> Also many thanks to BHG for her great guidance on Heero's motivation and personality. I hope I've done it justice here!
> 
> The Osaka train station exists, and it does have an area of lockers that are somewhat hidden and often unused. They do also have automatic timers, though I can’t speak to their hack-ability.
> 
> The Remington 700 is an often-favored sniper and big-game rifle. Marine scout-snipers use a militarized version of it, the M40AO3. In fact, the Marines have been using militarized versions of it for most of their sniping programs, dating back to the 60s when there was no “standard issue” rifle, and each sniper used what was most comfortable for them. It’s accurate at extreme distances, depending on the skill of the shooter, but 600 yards is good, because the round reaches its target before the sound of the shot. I chose it because it’s easily obtainable by a civilian for big game hunting, which meant it would be easy for Odin to get. It’s also 41.5 inches long and an acoustic guitar case is about 44 inches long. In case you care.  
> The Sam Colt quote is an advertisement from Colt Manufacturing from some time in the 1800s. It has several variations, but this one’s my favorite.
> 
> Sig P-226 MK25s and Predator tactical knives are favored by special forces operatives the world over. Also, M27s are real, and one of the fully automatic machine guns that uses magazines rather than clips.  
> I janked Heero’s cybersecurity sales pitch and idea from an article I read on CNBC – they were approached in almost exactly this manner by a startup company, and it worked very well. Seemed like something he’d do. But the lame company name is mine, all mine! Also I know less than nothing about security, internet, hacking, or anything vaguely electronic related – be kind!
> 
> Alina Alam courtesy of a random character generator, but I do love her!
> 
> Heero’s suit is based on the official Deadshot suit specs. 
> 
> Bruges, again, real. Port of Zeebrugge, also real. It really does move all the stuff I said, except, hopefully, the illegal arms. It really has a beach. There really is a hotel (Hotel Atlas) less than a mile from the port that looks like it would have a great view of all things port related, if you were on that side of the hotel. In fact, let’s just say that all locations are real, unless othwerwise noted, and I did my best to research the hell out of them.


	5. Task Force X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wufei, tooling around the Earth sphere, looking for something to do. Enter Sally, stage left, to make him an offer he cannot refuse. The beginnings of his very own black ops group.

_ “You don’t own me _

_ I’m not just one of your many toys _

_ You don’t own me.” _

You Don’t Own Me - Grace

* * *

 

Colony A0206 was launched near the very beginning of space colonization.  Meilan had been heir to Master Long, and therefore, at least in her mind, heir to the colony leadership.  Part of her seething fury had been that she was not considered fit for leadership without a husband, and that Wufei had been chosen for that role. That she did not consider him worthy of the honor had played only a small role in her anger and hurt.

 

She hadn’t known, however, what Wufei did about the elders’ decision, and she had died before he’d had the desire or opportunity to share.  

 

L5 had been the home of his clan, the Dragon Clan, for over 100 years before Wufei’s birth - which was, fittingly, in the year of the water dragon.  His birth had been particularly auspicious, being in the fourth lunar month of that year. Then of course, was the birthmark.  A small cafe au lait spot situated on his right hip that some senile old man convinced himself was in the shape of a dragon. As he had gotten older and his character and abilities became more developed, it had only cemented their notions. 

 

At some point they had decided that Wufei was the incarnate heir of Shenlong, historic guardian of the Clan.

 

Wufei snorted.   _ They believed me to be the reincarnation of a thousands-year old mythical dragon and decided that made me more fit to lead the colony than birthright.  No wonder Meilan was so angry. _

 

Since the end of the war he’d been a bit of a wanderer.  He’d first spent a few months touring the remaining colonies of the L5 cluster, but most were in shambles, and while other people still called them home, there were no remains of his clan.  All of them had perished in his colony’s last act of defiance.  His clan had been effectively banished to the colony for their pride and refusal to bend to the government’s wishes, so he wasn’t surprised that they had chosen to go out in such spectacular fashion.  

 

But he was lonely.  

 

And the remaining colonies were slowly dying.  A0206 had been the main colony in the cluster, a center of trade and learning, and the loss of it had damaged the surrounding, smaller colonies, both economically and physically.  A colony exploding was no small thing, after all, and some of the closer satellites had taken shrapnel damage.  People who could leave, did, and what remained was withering away.  

 

The pilgrimage had done nothing to help his feeling that he was drifting along, a lost cause.

 

Currently, he was in China.  His clan considered themselves to be direct descendants of the Yellow Emperor, and prior to their colonial exile had lived in northwest China near the Huang He river.  

 

Wufei had spent many weeks in the area, first touring through the cities, then venturing farther and farther afield, admiring the country and investigating historical sights.  He had spent hours in local libraries and museums, deciphering ancient texts and looking over old manuscripts. 

 

While it was interesting to the academic he had been, the war had forged him into a warrior - his research gave him no sense of significance, and only served to highlight how very alone he was in the world.   

 

In short, he felt wretched. If anyone had asked him what he was trying to accomplish, browsing through dusty tomes in a region of the world none of his ancestors had lived in for hundreds of years, he could not have said.  He wasn’t sure what he was searching for, and he didn’t know that he would recognize it if he found it.

 

Luckily he was saved from drowning in his own ennui by a cryptic message on an old war-time contact board.  

 

**_05 to meet._ ** **_50° 51' 1.62" N 4° 20' 55.61" E.  浓茶_ **

 

Well.  That was new.  

 

_ Why would someone send me coordinates for Europe with the Chinese characters for tea?  More importantly,  _ **_who_ ** _ would do something so inane? _

 

Pulling up his web browser he entered the coordinates.  Brussels.  

 

Ok.

 

He searched tea shops.  Too many hits.  Wufei looked back at the message, thinking.  He searched Chinese tea shops. The number one hit was Nóng chá.  The Chinese word for tea.

 

_ Guess I’m going out for tea then. _

 

He booked a flight to Brussels.

 

**_05 will meet. 111530ANOV196_ **

 

*

 

Wufei entered the small shop warily.  It smelled warm and herbal, although he’d spent so much time in China that it was probably not as much of an experience as it would have been otherwise. It was small, with rows upon rows of shelving behind the brightly lit counter, each one with a large tin of loose leaf tea, labeled in Chinese characters.  There was also a small selection of traditionally decorated tea pots and cups. It was clearly a shop intended for selling hand curated teas, but there was a small grouping of tables in the back, and Wufei noticed a sign advertising ‘tastings’ near the register. The clerk nodded to him in greeting.  Wufei inclined his head in return. At one of the tables in the back corner of the shop he noticed a blonde head with familiar, twisted curls draped over slim shoulders.

 

_ Sally Po. _

 

He made straight for her, noticing she had chosen a table in the corner where they could both sit with their backs to the wall.  She watched him carefully, eyes trailing from head to toe.  He knew, after months of traveling, that he looked careworn.  He was clean and carefully groomed, but his clothes were showing signs of wear and both his hair and body had grown out some.  He braced himself for her commentary as he sat down.

 

Instead, she nudged the teapot at him.  He poured himself a generous portion in the empty cup and lifted it to his face, inhaling the steam.  He took a small sip, and waited.

 

Sally had called this meeting after all.

 

They sipped their tea in silence.  

 

“So, what have you been doing with yourself Wufei?”

 

“Traveling, as I’m sure you could deduce on your own.  What is it you want from me?”  He hadn’t flown halfway around the globe for a cup of tea and small talk.

 

“Traveling around doing important things, I’m sure.  Crucial to the peace.  Couldn’t be handled by anyone but the great Chang Wufei, no doubt.”  She watched him over her cup, eyes glinting.

 

The damned woman  _ knew _ she was riling him up. “What. Do. You. Want?”

 

“You to do something useful with yourself, instead of moping around the whole damn planet reading Chinese bedtime stories!”

 

Wufei reared back, prepared to deliver a scathing retort.

Sally cut him off with a sigh.  “That was unfair, I’m sorry.  I’ve had a dozen agents under my command die in the last months, and I’m tired of it.  I’ve come to beg for your help, not insult your… pursuits.”  

 

Wufei closed his mouth with a snap.  Re-opened it with biting sarcasm and barely restrained fury.  “What  _ command _ ?  The war is over, Sally, what are you ranting about?”

 

Sally looked at him like he was a blithering idiot.  “Oh the war is  _ over _ is it?  Well someone must have  _ forgotten _ to tell the  **criminals** .  You know, the lowlifes who are lining their pockets by selling guns to  _ other _ lowlifes who are using the guns  **on my agents** .”

 

Wufei resisted the urge to rub his face with his hands.  He’d forgotten what it was like to converse with the infuriating woman.  “You still haven’t told me what  _ command _ you’re blathering on about.  Are you running another barely competent rebel gang?”

 

“You’ve heard of the Preventers?”

 

He shrugged one shoulder, noncommittally.  It was supposed to be classified, but that had gone by the wayside rather early in its implementation, as they were intended to be the last armed police force in the world.  He knew Une had been selected to run the organization.  Beyond that, he hadn’t paid much attention.  “So, yes, then?” he retorted.

 

Sally sighed deeply, whether in disappointment or frustration he couldn’t say.  He was determined not to make it easy for her.  “Une runs a tight ship, but her hands are tied by regulations and the Minister of Security.  Stodgy little toad that he is, he won’t sign off on anything, we’re going into the field armed with pocket knives and bean bag launchers, and getting slaughtered half the time.”

 

He waited, but nothing else was forthcoming.

 

“So you want me to wield a bean bag launcher and… do what?”  Wufei just wanted her to get to the point.

 

“No!  I’m not explaining myself well.  I’ve… convinced… Une that we need a black ops team.  So black ops that Minister Tight-Ass doesn’t even know it exists.  I want you to come  **run** it.”

 

Wufei felt a fierce smile cross his face as the warrior within him responded to the idea of a challenge.  Maybe this is what he’d been looking for.  A purpose. 

 

He paused as something occurred to him.  “How did you know what I’ve been doing?”

 

She smirked.  “I still keep tabs on the people I care about, and I’ve got sources in China.  You, of all people, should know that.”

 

*

 

Une had not expected to come into her office and find Sally Po and Wufei Chang, of all people, waiting for her.  

 

“And to what do I owe the dubious honor of having the heir to the Dragon Clan in my office?” she asked, drolly, seating herself behind the desk and switching her computer on. “And my wayward second in command escorting him, no less.”

 

Sally rolled her eyes.  

 

“It’s hard to be heir of a clan that no longer exists, Director.”  Wufei couldn’t  _ quite _ keep the note of bitterness out of his voice.  

 

Une didn’t acknowledge his comment, cutting her eyes sideways to Sally as she raised a coffee mug to her lips. 

 

Sally spoke before the situation could degenerate to a physical altercation.  “He’s agreed to come and lead the covert ops team.”

 

“Oh?  I wasn’t aware that we’d asked him.” 

 

“Well, then, I suppose I can get back to my pursuit of Chinese bedtime stories, since my skills are not required.” Wufei got up to leave, in no mood to be caught in the middle of… whatever this was. 

 

_ Women. _

 

Sally surprised them both by slamming her hands down on Une’s desk and leaned into the other woman’s space.  “We. Discussed. This.” 

 

Wufei sat back down.  If nothing else, watching them come to blows would be entertaining.

 

To his utter disappointment, Une capitulated, sighing.  “Yes, you’re right, of course.”  She sounded resigned.  Unlocking a drawer in her desk, she pulled out a fairly thick file and handed it to Wufei.  He accepted, raising an eyebrow in question.  

 

“Records of all the botched missions since our inception.”  He nodded, opening the folder and flipping through the records. As he skimmed over them, his other eyebrow joined the first.  He found it hard to believe she had let this go on for nearly a year.

 

“You’re compromised,” he said, flatly, handing the folder back. Une blew out a breath, closing her eyes briefly.  Sally’s lips thinned as she pressed them together.  “You already knew,”  he stated with certainty.  “Why am I here?”  

 

“We suspected.  There were too many coincidences for comfort, but we can’t prove anything - some missions go off without a hitch.  And the ones that don’t aren’t related in any way we can determine.”  Une clasped her hands together on the desk, face hard.  “The problem is there are too many people involved in mission planning and approval.  Too much bureaucratic red tape.”

 

“You want me to work outside the system.”

 

“No.  I want you to work for me.  I just don’t want anyone else to know about it.  I want to provide you with mission objectives and not explain to five different paper pushers why you need real bullets and an authorization of force to apprehend a known terrorist.”

 

“I  **am** a known terrorist.  You want plausible deniability.”  Wufei watched her face carefully.  He wasn’t stupid.  She wanted an off-the-books execution squad, if that’s what she determined the situation warranted, and she didn’t want to get her hands dirty to do it.  

 

Une didn’t deny the accusation.  She glanced, briefly, at Sally, who responded with a look that Wufei couldn’t interpret. Une spoke. “Gundam Pilot 05 is a known terrorist, true identity unknown.  Chang Wufei is the last surviving member of the A0206 colony, a refugee.  The two have never been connected, nor would they be.”  They shared a look of understanding.

 

He nodded, once.

 

Sally sighed, relief evident in the tension leaving her shoulders.  She turned to Wufei, offering him another sheath of papers.  

 

“What’s this?” he asked, confused.  

 

“A job offer,” she responded, wryly.  “We need some excuse to issue you a badge, uniform, and computer access, after all.  It’s your  _ cover _ , idiot.  We’re hiring you as an intelligence analyst, reporting directly to me.  We can’t explain your skill set at the tender age of 16 and make you a bona fide field agent without someone taking notice.  It also allows us to offer you permanent housing, a salary, and security clearance.”

 

_ What the hell am I getting myself into? _

 

He signed the acceptance letter.

 

By the time the paperwork was completed, uniforms assigned, and obligatory building tour gotten out of the way, Wufei’s head was pounding.  Who knew how much  _ stuff _ was involved in simply getting a job.  He just wanted a quiet place to retreat to, where he could meditate and have some time to himself.

 

_ Speaking of which… _

 

“You mentioned housing?”  

 

“Indeed I did, Chang.  We’ll make a little side trip along the way!” Sally chirped, sounding positively  _ delighted _ .  Wufei grimaced.   _ Would this day never _ **_end_ ** _? _

 

They stepped into the elevator. Sally presented her card to the reader and, pressing a small button near the speaker, said, “Basement level 6.”  

 

Nothing on the elevator panel indicated anything below level 5.  

 

The smooth, silent descent came to a stop and both of them stepped off onto a floor that spoke of hospital trappings, or an electronics clean room.  It had that sort of sterile feel.   _ Almost like a lab… _

 

His musings were interrupted by a gratingly boisterous voice.  “Sally Po!  Brought me a new victim, I see!”

 

Her reply was sardonic as the two of them turned to greet the newcomer.  “Hardly.  Be careful or you might find yourself at the wrong end of a pointy object.  Dr. Geary, this is Chang Wufei.  Chang, this is Dr. Geary.  He runs the Defense Armament Department, which we very carefully do not call a weapons lab. You’re standing in the middle of it.”

 

Wufei looked carefully at the slightly-hunched older man.  He seemed vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place where he might have seen him before.  Wufei bowed briefly in greeting.  “Dr. Geary.”

 

The doctor returned Wufei’s inquisitive perusal, a calculating look in his eye.  “Are you the solution to our little… problem, then?”

 

Sally laughed.  “You might say that!  Wufei’s come to lead the black ops team, so he’ll need all your best toys.”

 

“Une didn’t approve of my other suggestion then, I take it?  Well, no matter.  I’m sure Mr. Chang will no doubt be up to the task.  Follow me, girls and boys, and let’s see what sort of toys he’s got a preference for!”

 

Wufei trailed along behind the two, perplexed.  It was going to be an  _ interesting _ tenure, he was sure.

 

While Geary had a wide selection of top notch lethal armament, it was clear that his heart was in strange non-traditional weaponry.  He’d shown Wufei everything from a plasma gun to an acoustic canon, all capable of stopping a target in its tracks and temporarily disabling them.  Though the sound canon still needed a bit of work, as it made the agent using it just as disabled as the target.  “Haven’t quite gotten the noise cancelling ear muffs at the right setting!” the man had cackled, explaining the weapon. 

 

Wufei wasn’t as enamoured of it, preferring to ensure his targets weren’t going to pop up at an inopportune moment, typically by shooting them in the head.

 

The man had applied his genius to the tactical equipment, however, and in that aspect Wufei had no complaints.  When Geary had first arrived at Preventers he’d upgraded the body armor for the agents almost immediately to the best commercially-available product.  In the wake of the overly-informed criminal syndicate, he’d taken it a step further and been working on making the agents virtually indestructible.

 

He’d very nearly succeeded.  

 

Chortling, Dr. Geary had shown the newest improvements to Wufei, eager to demonstrate his wizardry.  He’d replaced the traditional porcelain plates of the body armor with gundanium (where he’d gotten it, Wufei didn’t ask, since manufacturing it had been deemed illegal after the war) making the armor much more lightweight and impact resistant.  He’d gleefully explained that nothing short of a beam rifle would penetrate the vests, as he’d improved it even beyond protection from armor-piercing rounds.  He’d replaced the Kevlar with a fabric weave of his own design that he called Dyneema.  It was lighter, moisture wicking, and stronger.  It even protected from piercing injuries, something Kevlar was notoriously susceptible to.  He’d gone so far as to create ropes out of the stuff - a 1mm thick strand could support 240kg and it floated on water.  

 

Barring a lucky limb shot or a decapitation, Wufei’s black ops team would be damn difficult to kill.  

 

Of course, Wufei might kill them himself if Une had her way.

 

“I am  **not** going to lead a team that has Merquise on it!”

 

“You don’t have a choice!”

 

“Let  **him** lead it then, and I’ll go back to China!  Not only is the man an insufferable fool, but he couldn’t sneak his way out of a children’s hide and seek game!  He wouldn’t know ‘secret’ if it bit him in the ass, did you see the  **mask** he wore the entire war?  Not to mention he’s the Vice Foreign Minister’s  **brother** ! Are you daft?!”

 

“The mask hid his identity!  I am in charge of this organization, Chang, and you’ll work with who I say!”

 

“The mask made him  **more identifiable** .  If he’d just said his name was Zech Merquise, no one would have known the difference!  I choose my team, or you can find another sacrificial lamb!  I need people I can trust farther than I can throw them to watch my back!”

 

Sally had watched the entire exchange with glee bordering on exultation, head whipping back and forth like she was at a tennis match.  Une finally threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, shoving a stack of files at him.  “Here are all the candidates we considered acceptable.  Pick five of your choice then, and on your head be it!” and she’d stomped out of the lab in a huff.

 

The first thing he’d done was dump Merquise’s file in the bin.

 

Wufei’d been given a small apartment in the floor below Geary’s top-secret not-a-weapons lab, and that was where he took the remainder of the files, along with his laptop.  Sifting through every agent and hacking their files was going to take some time, after all, and he preferred to do it in comfort and privacy.

 

Comfort being a relative term.  The apartments were rather spartan.  He had a small living area, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchenette.  But it was private, and he’d stayed in much worse places. Brewing himself a cup of tea, he got to work.

 

In the end, he chose four candidates, just to be vexing.  He sat the rejected files aside, looking over his choices one last time.

 

_ Hektor Andreou - former Alliance intelligence officer, resigned his commission prior to the start of war, citing ‘conscientious objection’.  Greek descent, language expert, experienced in infiltration, prefers bladed weapons. _

 

_ Alexei Minkov - background a bit shady, probably part of a rebel group, thought to be from Bulgaria.  Explosives and saboteur expert, some skill with electronics.  His file included several notations of missions where had had identified and disarmed a booby trap, saving his team members’ lives.   _

 

_ Vincent Fonseca - born in Spain, no history prior to joining Preventers, but he’d taken to weapons and tactical training like a duck to water.  He was currently a munitions specialist, qualified on everything in the Preventers arsenal, but he showed promise in Operations as well. _

 

Wufei fingered through the last file.  He was fairly certain it was going to send Une through the roof, and that had played only a small part in his choosing of it.

 

_ Hilde Schbeiker - former Oz officer from L2, disciplined during the war for ‘dereliction of duty,’ returned to L2 briefly at the end of conflict, before joining Preventers just over 5 months ago.  Hand to hand combat expert, top marksman, computer analyst.  Several notations in the file indicating ‘unconcealed aggression,’ ‘excess use of force subduing prisoners,’ and ‘outright ignores rules of combat in training situations.’ _

 

But she had never let a target escape.

 

Reviewing his notes, something niggled at his consciousness.  He was happy with the team, certain that all of the skills he would required were covered, pleased with what he could see of their personalities.  

 

There was something familiar about the combination though.

 

_ Infiltrator who likes blades.  Explosive and booby traps expert.  Tactician.  Aggressive hand to hand combat expert. _

 

He groaned as his head thumped on his desk.

 

He’d recreated the pilots’ skill set.

 

After he’d gotten over his disgust with himself, he dropped the files on Une’s desk without comment.  Regardless of his subconscious motivations, it was a good team, and he was just going to ignore whatever it said about his headspace.  

 

*

 

Wufei first met his team in person in February of AC 197.  He’d had made team selections near the end of the previous year, but it had taken some time to process transfers and paperwork, not to mention the holidays.  He followed Sally into the conference room, shifting to the side of the door and leaning against the wall to observe, crossing his arms.  

 

He recognized Schbeiker on sight, though only because she was the sole woman, other than Sally.  She was petite, slim, with dark, short-cropped hair, and blue eyes.  She was leaning back in a precariously balanced chair, only two legs of which were on the ground.  A large, darkly tanned man with dark hair, at least two days’ worth of stubble, and amber eyes was visibly twitching every time the chair creaked.  Wufei caught a slight smirk on her face every time it happened.  A few feet away was a short, dark-skinned man with laughing green eyes, face taut with barely-suppressed mirth, trying desperately not to laugh.  The final man in the room, slim and unassuming with perfectly coiffed hair, glanced over with barely concealed boredom, reviewing the paperwork that had been placed on the table.  No one else had touched theirs.

 

Sally cleared her throat.  Chair legs hit the ground with a thump.  Wufei didn’t move.

 

She turned to look at him over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, and jerked her chin towards the table.  Wufei rolled his eyes but moved farther into the room to take the seat next to her.  

 

“Alright,” she began, “does everyone know why they’re here?”

 

Hilde opened her mouth, but the silent agent who’d been reading beat her to it. “New team assignment.  Some kind of special ops.”  He eyed Wufei dubiously, clearly wondering what he was doing there.

 

At first Wufei thought it was because of his age, but Hilde wasn’t any older than he was, and no one was giving her a second glance.  He decided it must be because no one recognized him.  Everyone went through a certain amount of training, after all, and the organization wasn’t so huge that you didn’t at least recognize other field agents. 

 

“Well, at least one of you read the syllabus. Yes, we’re all here to discuss a new covert operations team.  For now, we’re calling it Task Force X.  Welcome to the team, agents. You will be - “  she was cut off by the large, twitchy brute.

 

“Who’s he?” he asked, nodding at Wufei.

 

“We’ll get to that, Agent Andreau. For now, I want to cover what the directive and goals of the team are going to be, then we’ll get to show and tell, unless you’d like to run this meeting yourself?”

 

He shut up.  Wufei’s lips twitched, but he managed to keep the smirk to himself.  Hilde, on the other hand, snorted rather loudly, but she didn’t say anything.  There was a small, aborted sound of amusement from the agent who’d been enjoying her little show earlier, but he didn’t say anything either.  

 

“As I was saying, you’ve been chosen to be part of a new covert operations special forces group.  You’ll operate under a team commander, who reports directly to me, and your missions will be classified Top Secret.  This is a black ops group, folks, so if that’s not something you’re interested in, now’s the time to bid us adieu.”  She paused, waiting to see if there were any takers.  No one moved.

 

“Missions will be hand-selected to provide the most direct benefit to the peace, and to be frank, they’re going to be the most dangerous.  You’ll be given full authorization of force at all times, unless specifically directed to bring your target in alive.  You’ll be briefed and debriefed by your team commander or myself, and  **no one else** .  I want to make that perfectly clear.  This is a secret, classified, undocumented covert ops group.  You don’t exist.  Questions about that?”

 

Again, no one said anything, although Wufei could see everyone’s attention had sharpened to blade like precision.  Good.

 

“Alright.  Introductions then, and since Agent Andreau was so anxious to get started earlier, he can go first, I think.”

 

Andreau grimaced.  “Hektor Andreau, intelligence.  Not that I’ve displayed any so far.  Apologies, commander.” He nodded to Sally, who returned it with a grin.

 

The slim, quiet man spoke next, grey eyes meeting Wufei’s, “Alexei Minkov, demolitions.”

 

Wufei nodded at him, turning to the team’s single female agent.  “Hilde Schbeiker, dirty street fighter, computer whiz, crack shot, and token woman.”  She grinned, fiercely.

 

Wufei spoke for the first time.  “You weren’t chosen because you’re a woman.  You’re were chosen because you’ve never let a prisoner get away.  And you’re one of the most effective hand to hand combat agents in the organization, despite your dirty tricks.  Or perhaps because of them.”  She had the grace to look a bit abashed, though he could tell the praise was appreciated.

 

He looked at the final man, who still had the ghost of a smile on his face, “Vinny Fonseca, munitions.”

 

Wufei pressed his lips together, but didn’t speak.  Sally did it for him.  “For this team you’re going to be providing tactical operations knowledge, Fonseca,  though that doesn’t mean your weapons skills won’t be particularly helpful.”  He looked surprised, but pleased.

 

Though Wufei had a feeling he was one of those people who always looked sickeningly cheerful.

 

They were all staring at Wufei.  He cleared his throat, suddenly, idiotically, nervous. 

 

“Chang Wufei, team commander.  And Gundam pilot.”  He’d decided to put it on the table right away.  If there were going to be problems or resentments because of it, it’d be better to deal with them immediately.  

 

Everyone goggled at him, except Sally, and - strangely - Schbeiker.  She just laughed until tears streamed down her face.

 

*

 

“Oi, Schbeiker, that’s cheating!”

 

Wufei could hear the sounds of a scuffle down the hallway.

 

“There’s only two things in a fight: winning and losing.  Guess which one I prefer.”

 

He heard the sound of a body hitting the mat hard.  Turning the corner into the practice gym, he paused in the doorway, observing.  Andreau was on the ground, Hilde pinning him down with a knee in his neck, despite the fact that he outweighed her by close to 40 kilos.  He tapped out, disgruntled.  “Where’d you learn all this shit anyway?”

 

“A friend.” she said, mysteriously, cutting twinkling eyes to Wufei and back to Hektor, offering him a hand up.  

 

“What kind of friend teaches you how to decimate your opponent by nearly ripping their ears off and crushing their trachea?”

 

“A very good friend,” Wufei retorted, strolling fully into the room.

 

Vinny laughed, sitting in the corner of the room drinking water.  He was sweating with a towel draped across his shoulders, though he wasn’t bruised enough to have been a victim of Schbeiker’s particular fighting style.  

 

_ He’s probably been working out like a sensible person. _

 

“Leave no opportunity unexploited!” Hilde cried, snatching up her own bottle of water.

 

They’d been training together for over 3 months, and as such had developed a peculiar camaraderie.  The four agents he’d recruited had needed to learn to work together, but Wufei had needed to learn to work in a group  _ at all _ .  He’d gone to the school of guerilla tactics and outright terrorism, and very little of his training had included anything even remotely team-based.  In fact, what little he did know of working with others came from his time with Sally’s merry band of rebels during the war.  That, and Quatre’s battle tactics, there at the end - but fighting as a group of Gundams wasn’t the same as surgical strike team.

 

It had been quite the learning experience, on all fronts. The team didn’t seem to have any hesitation over his past, following his orders without incident, once he’d learned to integrate teammates into his overall thought process. They’d even gotten him a cake for his birthday last week, though how anyone had known, he wasn’t sure.  He suspected Sally had ratted him out.

 

On the whole, it had been a very smooth process.  He now knew all his teammates better, and thus was better able to predict how they would respond and act in a given situation.  They’d taken to sparring and shooting together as well, though everyone mostly avoided their close quarters combat expert.  Wufei was still the only member of their little group that Hilde hadn’t royally trounced, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it’d been a close thing.  He’d definitely benefitted from her no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners style, if only in learning to protect his unmentionables more carefully.

 

“Where’s Alexei?” Wufei asked, glancing around, “we have a mission.”

 

*

 

Their first mission was only marginally more complicated than a training exercise. They’d been tasked with retrieving an informant who’d been compromised, and apparently Une felt he was valuable enough to warrant a spec ops mission.

 

In fact, according to their intelligence, the mark hadn’t even been captured, but was lying low at a prearranged location - some abandoned (but not condemned) warehouse.  It should be “easy as taking candy from a baby,” as Schbeiker pointed out, during the mission brief.  

 

_ Famous last words. _

 

In what had to be the most statistically improbable event of the year,  Wufei’s team had arrived almost exactly at the same time as a group of heavily armed thugs, clearly at cross purposes.  Fonseca had spotted them first, from his position on the roof of the next building.

 

“Chimera, I have movement at the back door, likely unfriendly.  I count six, over.”

 

Wufei grimaced. “Copy.”  His team was already inside the building, clearing their entrance.  The backdoor had been their planned exit route.  “Atlas, make a new exit.  Spectre, cover the rear.   Matrix, with me.  We just upped our timeline. Falcon, do not engage, cover our exit.”

 

“Wilco,” came Fonseca’s response.  

 

Andreou faded into the darkness of the building, working his way over to their Plan B exit strategy, a wide window on the east side of the building.  His job was to protect that exit at all costs.  

 

They moved faster, clearing their path with slightly less care, now that they knew the resistance they’d hoped to avoid was at their backs. They reached the door their target was supposed to be behind and paused.  Schbeiker turned to guard the rear, Minkov and Wufei poised to enter the fatal funnel with speed.  Wufei nodded, once, and kicked the door in, Minkov immediately entering right, Wufei left.  

 

“Clear!”

 

“Clear!”

 

Their target was tangled in a sleeping bag he’d obviously tried to climb out of when the door had slammed open.  Schbeiker stepped in behind them, confirmed the room was safe, and turned back to the door, keeping watch.

 

Wufei spoke rapidly, “I've heard the Riviera is nice this time of year.”

 

The man detangling himself from his sleep arrangements responded, “Yes, I've heard the sunsets are beautiful.”

 

Code phrase confirmed, Minkov threw a ballistics vest at him. “Put this on. Be quick. Your friends are here.” He managed to look even more alarmed, struggling into the vest quickly. 

 

Wufei clicked his radio on, “Target acquired. Extraction Bravo. Try to keep it clean and quiet.”

 

Fonseca clicked back, “Copy.” The rest of the team moved silently into the hallway.  They were two turns and about 100 meters from their exit when all hell broke loose. Schbeiker cleared a left corner and Wufei heard a thud followed by a slither. He followed around, surveying the space with his MP7 in the lead, to find her wiping a wicked looking blade off on the dead guy slumped against the wall at her feet. She looked up at Wufei, quirking an eyebrow. 

 

Two more hostiles rounded the corner in front of them. 

 

_ Ancestors save us. So much for clean and quiet.  _

 

He brought his rifle up as Schbeiker spun. Her knife appeared, as if by magic, in the first one’s throat. He dropped. The second guy fell almost at the same moment, the sounds of Wufei’s suppressed rounds loud in the silence. 

 

He clicked his radio, “Rapid extraction, fast and dirty. 3 hostiles down. Rendezvous point Charlie. Falcon to meet. Cover our exit.”

 

Falcon clicked back, “Wilco. Exit Bravo still clean.”

 

“Atlas, you copy?” Wufei wanted to be sure of their exit. 

 

“Copy. Exit secure.”

 

They moved forward, the informant in the middle of the formation. Minkov took point, Wufei and Schbeiker behind and to either side of their charge. 

 

Andreou was standing sentry when they got to the east window. He'd already popped the frame out in anticipation of their arrival, leaving a wide, clear opening in the wall, about a meter off the floor. He nodded in greeting as they entered and went out first, taking position outside the window. 

 

Fonseca clicked on, “Eyes on Atlas.”

 

“Copy.”

 

Minkov went next and had the informant halfway out the window when the last three unfriendlies found them.  Schbeiker unceremoniously shouldered him the rest of the way through while Wufei raised his rifle. The first man went down in a shower of bullets, the second one close behind. 

 

The third man ducked to cower behind his friends, missing the hailstorm by millimeters and making it impossible for Wufei to get a shot from his angle. Schbeiker worked her way around the side of the room, angling for another shot.  The guy was good about keeping his head covered though, and he pulled his own gun out, shooting wildly in Wufei’s direction.  

 

Moments later, Schbeiker fired a single shot and he went down screaming - she silenced him quickly with a final shot.  Joining Wufei by the window, she elaborately motioned him to go first.  He rolled his eyes and vaulted over the ledge, landing lightly on the ground outside.  She was beside him within moments.  

 

Without words, the entire group quietly made their way through the empty warehouse district to the van they’d parked less than an hour before.  Five minutes later, Fonseca joined them, clambering in the back.  Minkov took the wheel, Andreou riding shotgun.  They drove out of the city, en route to a small, nondescript airport where they’d be picked up by Preventers’ air support.

 

About ten minutes into the ride, Wufei turned to Hilde, eyebrow raised in question.  She smirked, stripping her ballistics vest off and mopping her damp, sweaty face.  “Kneecapped ‘em.”

 

Minkov snorted in the front seat.  The informant looked horrified.

 

Wufei laughed.  

 

*

 

Une reviewed the latest report from Task Force X for the third time, waiting for it to make sense.  She sighed, rubbing at her temples.

 

She peered up at Sally, who looked as confused as she felt.  “Put this in plain English for me.”

 

Sally shrugged.  “The team went into what looked like a fairly straightforward bang and burn.  We got intel indicating the location of a terrorist weapons depot, Chang’s team was charged with going in, verifying that it was a weapons stash, and blowing it to kingdom come.”  She sighed.  “When they got there, everything seemed as expected until they started setting charges - that’s  when they realized there were  **already** charges set to detonate.  Minkov noticed it first, of course, calling for an immediate fallback.  He and Chang were at the back of the warehouse.  The others made it out no problem thanks to his warning, but either they were being monitored and someone saw them scrambling, or they were on some kind of chain detonation timer, because the bombs started going, beginning not far from where Chang and Minkov were.”

 

Sally spread her hands out in total confusion.  “There’s no way either one of them should have made it out of there alive.  Schbeiker, Andreou, and Fonseca’s reports all agree that the building was damn well engulfed in flames when Chang came bursting out, Minkov thrown over his shoulder.”

 

“And what’s their status now?” Une questioned, re-reading the portion of the report in question. 

 

“Minkov is still in the hospital.  He suffered some pretty extensive burns and smoke inhalation. It's not clear if he’ll ever be fit for field duty again, but he’ll live.”

 

“And Chang?”

 

“Not a scratch on him.  Some minor smoke inhalation as well, but he was treated with oxygen in the team transport - speaking of which, we need a more extensive med bag in there - and he seems fine now.”

 

“How does he explain his miraculous escape?”

 

Sally sighed.  “He doesn’t.  Just said that when the explosions started going off he grabbed Minkov and ran for the door.  Doesn’t know how it happened, claims he’s just lucky.”

 

“He’s been lucky a lot.” Une said, frowning.  “Isn’t this the… sixth? Seventh? Mission he should never have made it back from?  And there have been others that should have damn near been impossible that went off without a hitch.  Or a major hitch, at any rate.”

 

“Well, he is a Gundam pilot.  They’re tenacious bastards.”  Sally replied, moving to get up from her chair.  “I mean, that’s why we recruited him, isn’t it?  And you can’t deny the results - the team has been operational what, 9 months?  And they’ve already accomplished more than the rest of our ‘official’ teams, combined!”

 

Une nodded vaguely, still looking through the official report.  She never even noticed Sally leaving her office.

 

A little while later she got up, heading for the elevator.  She wanted to talk to Chang herself.

 

*

 

Wufei was working through his katas when he heard someone come into the gym.  Exhaling deeply, he finished the set he was on, before dropping his form and turning to face the newcomer.

 

“Schbeiker.”

 

“Wufei.”  A small lift of her lips. “You can call me Hilde, you know.  Got a minute?”

 

“Of course.  Though if you’ve come to ask me about our most recent mission, I haven’t got anything to tell you.” He walked to the edge of the mat and retrieved a small towel and bottle of water, moving to sit on a bench near the wall.  He waved for her to join him.

 

She sat down, turned slightly towards him, held tilted just a bit to the side, as if studying him.  “I haven’t come to ask you anything about the mission.”  She paused, weighing her words.  “Did you know the other Gundam pilots?”

 

His brow pinched together.  They’d been working together for months, and the subject had never come up.  He thought it odd that it did now.  “Yes.”

 

“I meant, were you friends?”  She chewed on her lower lip.

 

“We were…” he thought about it carefully, “I wouldn’t say we were friends, no.  We were trusted allies.  Even now I would trust them more than anyone else in the Earth sphere, but we weren’t friends.  Those aren’t the kind of… people we are.  Were.  Why do you ask?”

 

She looked vaguely sad, though he couldn’t understand why.  “When you found out I was a Gundam pilot, your reaction was… unusual.” he observed.

 

She snorted.  “You could say that.”  She hesitated briefly.  “Before I joined the Preventers, I had a friend.  Helped me out on L2 for a while, said he owed me one, cause I had helped him out of a tight spot towards the end of the war.  Cost me my commission.  Anyway, he came to the colony, stayed with me for about 5 or 6 months, helping me out in the scrap yard.  When I decided to join up with Prev, he helped me close the whole thing down.  Taught me a few things about getting out of a tight spot as well.  Had a… certain affiliation with making things go boom.”  She looked up, met Wufei’s eyes. 

 

“Maxwell,” he breathed.  

 

She nodded, once, relieved he understood.  “I’m asking you now because, before he left, he was having some… troubles.”  She looked at Wufei’s face, searchingly.  “Nightmares, mostly, that were causing him some strong… reactions.  He took off for some other friend of his, somebody named Howard.”  She shrugged her shoulders.  “I didn’t think too much about it at the time, I had a lot going on between selling the business and starting training here.  When I packed up the room he’d stayed in while he was there, I found that he’d… burned some of his things.  Couldn’t understand why, but like I said, I had a lot going on.”  She turned her head, staring at nothing.  

 

Wufei waited.  

 

She turned back to him, face pinched with worry.  “After he left L2, I used to hear from him regularly.  Just a quick message or card, here or there.  Maybe a phone call.  In the last few months, it’s gotten less frequent, and the last time I saw him he looked… exhausted.  Something wasn’t right. Like he hasn't been sleeping at all. And now he won’t return my calls or messages, and I’m worried about him.  So I thought, maybe, if you were friends…”  She trailed off, helplessly.

 

Wufei examined her face, thoughts running a thousand different ways.

 

_ What was it about this mission that made her come to me? _  He closed his eyes, picturing it.   _ The fire. _

 

He opened his eyes again, searching her face.  “You think I can help him with… whatever it is that’s going on.”

 

She nodded.

 

He sighed.  “Alright.  You have contact details for him?”  She nodded, eagerly, pulling a small card out of her pocket and handing it to him.  He pocketed it without looking at the specifics.  He moved to leave, picking up his bottle and towel.  

 

She called his name, softly.  He wheeled back.  Her face was a picture of trepidation.  “I think he’s a Newtype.”  Her voice was barely above a whisper.

 

He nodded, turned to go.

 

He’d figured as much.

 

In the hallway, a slim figure eased, silently, away from the gym.  

 

Une had a lot of thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to ChronicWhimsy for her excellent beta reading and degreasing skills. This story is 1000 times better because of her.
> 
> I spent entirely too much time determining an After Colony timeline that would allow for Wufei to be born the year of the dragon. The year of the dragon comes around every 12 years, but for it to cycle through all five elements takes 60 years. The most recent year of the water dragon was 2012. And since we know the colony was nearly 200 years old (per Episode Zero, it was launched in AC 20) I correlated the calendar so that the colony launched in 2192 AD, making Wufei’s birth year 2372 (AC 180). To be in the 4th lunar month (lucky for a water dragon birth) I’ve decided his birthday is May 22nd. This is now canon. You’re welcome.
> 
> I’ve probably bastardized Chinese history here quite terribly. I’m not a scholar of ancient Chinese origin stories, by any means, just a reasonably good google-r. There are conflicting theories regarding the origins and history of the Yellow Emperor, so I’ve tried to simplify and condense just a smidge of the history to fit in with Wufei’s clan. Some accounts claim the Yellow Emperor was a dragon, became a dragon, or was a deity or became a deity. There are also accounts that he was the universal god. There is a history of worship or celebration of the Yellow Emperor in the Qin state, which is positioned roughly around the Yellow River (Huang He). I’ve decided that Wufei’s clan was from near Lanzhou City, which is on the banks of the river and within the (shifting) boundaries of the Qin state. 
> 
> Nong cha is a real tea shop. I have never been there, but I found it on Google. It looks to simply be a shop you can purchase traditional teas at, so I’ve modified it slightly to fit my purposes here. 
> 
> The meeting date and time is a modified version of Military Date Time Group. You can read more about it here but it essentially means 11 November 196 at 3:30pm. 
> 
> Dyneema is a real tactical weave that’s being developed for body armor. All the properties I’ve mentioned here are within specs. The non-lethal weapons I mention are also really in development, see chapter 1 for more notes on that.
> 
> Task Force X is a nod to Suicide Squad. It was the official name, before Deadshot coined the more well known term.
> 
> I’d like to publicly thank ChronicWhimsy for the imaginative fodder that fostered my new Hilde headcanon. It’s amazing and I love it. All credit for Hilde badassery to her. I took inspiration for her from Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation’s Ilsa Faust. 
> 
> All scenes involving military action are figments of my imagination, and I’ve done an overall poor job of describing them. The military jargon is accurate to the best of my knowledge, which is admittedly limited. Every effort has been made to ensure accuracy of weapons performance and military jargon. Credit to @bangarangduomaxwell for references regarding the ‘fatal funnel’ and clearing a room. Anyone interested in knowing exactly what kinds of weapons they’re carrying, I have headcanon for that! (HK USP Tactical 9mm, HK VP9SK, and HK MP7)
> 
> The code names for the team are mine allllllll mine but if you want them I’ll probably share.
> 
> The Riviera and sunsets are my idea of good code words, ok? I had to prove the guy was the right guy somehow.
> 
> Newtype theory isn’t every really mentioned in the Gundam Wing universe, but it’s explored in the other Gundam series’ to some extent. I’ve borrowed and bastardized it for my own nefarious purposes.


	6. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo joins the team, but the past isn't quite done haunting him yet.

_ Pain _

_ You break me down, you build me up, believer, believer _

_ Pain _

_ I let the bullets fly, oh let them rain _

_ My luck, my love, my God they came from _

_ Pain _

Believer - Imagine Dragons

* * *

 

 

Duo woke up abruptly, chest heaving, heart pounding, reaching for a weapon. He had the gun out, cocked, and pointed at shadows before he realized there was nothing in the room with him. He was covered in sweat, adrenaline pumping, as he stared around wildly, trying to sort reality from nightmare.  

 

He was just in his bunk, on Howard’s ship.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

 

No dying soldiers.  No exploding mechs.

 

He inhaled.  Counted to ten.  Exhaled.

 

He repeated the process several more times before he felt something close to normal.

 

He’d dreamed of screams, and blood, but not fire.  Thank god.  Not fire.

 

Duo dragged himself off to the showers, washing away the stink of fear and sweat, and the imagined smell of blood.  

 

Afterwards, he sat down at the desk, flipping on his computer.  He knew from previous experience there was no point in trying to go back to bed.  Nevermind that he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours.  Falling asleep again would only bring more nightmares, or worse.  

 

He opened his messages.  He had another one from Hilde, dated a couple of days ago.  He started to open it, changed his mind.  Guiltily, he moved on, deleting junk as he went. 

 

_ Spam, Spam, Porn Spam - could be interesting, wait, what’s this one? _

 

He didn’t recognize the sender, but he did recognize the ciphering in the subject line.  

 

**ot eotZ Fw  titac.novc**

 

He opened it.  

 

**32330AJAN198**

 

_ What the hell does Wufei want?! _

 

*

 

Duo was distracted.  Howard had commented on it, more than once, but it didn’t seem to improve his concentration.  Finally, he’d been sent over to bang the hell out of some beat up scrap metal they were trying to straighten out into some semblance of flat in order to sell, which was basically a shit job that he couldn’t ruin.

 

But it was physically exhausting while simultaneously requiring zero mental input, allowing him to dwell on the upcoming call with his old war pal.  He mulled it over, but couldn’t, for the life of him, come up with what  _ Wufei _ of all people could possibly want to talk to him about.  

 

_ Maybe he’s starting another revolution? _

 

Nah, Wufei wouldn’t do something bat shit crazy like that.  

 

But if he were being honest, Duo was pretty bored with all that life had to offer post-war, and he couldn’t imagine Chang Wufei enjoying it any better than he was.  

 

He was also pretty certain that it was making his  _ problem _ worse.  He didn’t have any kind of outlet, and he was convinced that keeping all his shit bottled up was causing the nightmares.  He didn’t feel bad about what he did in the war - there was bad shit on both sides, and he’d only done what had to be done.  But being stuck in the grind of civilian life was driving him bugfuck insane with no end in sight.  When he’d been staying with Hilde in the scrap yard, teaching her to fight and sparring with her in their down time had helped some, but there was no one willing to do that with him here.  

 

Apparently, taking on a former Gundam pilot was intimidating enough, but add in the fact that Duo’d grown to nearly 6ft and carried the muscle mass of a scrapper, well, guys were a bit put off, to say the least.  

 

So maybe Wufei was just as bored as he was, looking for something to do.

 

He still couldn’t imagine what it could be.

 

*

 

Five minutes before the appointed time he found himself seated in front of the vidphone, waiting with more anticipation that the situation probably warranted.  He was practically giddy, which told him plenty about his mental state and the fact that he should probably pay better attention to what the other guys were doing, or go out and do something with himself, or  _ something _ .  He hadn’t talked to any of them, hell, in like a year.  Just the routine “Status: Secure” messages they all pinged out regularly.  And he’d never talked to Wufei, per se, since that last meeting after the war.

 

It’d be interesting to see how he’d changed.  

 

Right on cue the vidphone rang.  Duo grinned, looking at the time.  He used his laptop to encrypt the connection and hit ‘accept’.  “Not even thirty seconds late, Chang, I’m impressed,” he drawled.

 

“Maxwell.  I didn’t want to keep you waiting - you have the attention span of a goldfish, you might’ve wandered off.”  Wufei snarked back at him from the screen, eyebrow raised, sardonic smirk on his face.

 

Duo laughed out loud.  “You bought yourself a sense of humor somewhere, Wufei?  It’s bargain basement, but it’s definitely an improvement.  What’re you callin’ little ol’ me for?”  He looked over the Chinese man, noting the changes two years had wrought.  It was hard to tell over vidphone, but he looked taller, broader, face and jaw a bit more defined than when he’d last seen him.  

 

Chang Wufei was all grown up.  

 

“I have a proposition for you.”

 

That was unexpected.  He leaned back in his chair, lazy smile sliding into place, eyes trailing over what he could see of the other man.  “Well, now, not that I wouldn’t be  _ interested _ , but this is kinda outta the blue, ya know.  I prefer a little wining and dining first.”

 

Wufei gave a long-suffering sigh.  “That's not the kind of expertise I'm looking for, idiot.”

 

Eyebrows raised, he motioned for Wufei to go on. “Yeah? You've got my attention then.  What could you possibly need from me?”

 

“I've had a opening suddenly become available.”  Wufei’s voice was studiously casual as he shuffled some papers around on his desk. “It calls for someone with your resume and experience.”  He looked up, calculatingly, gauging Duo’s face.  “Would you be interested?”

 

A sharp grin slashed across his face.  “Depends on the benefits.”  He openly appraised Wufei once more. “‘Course, I’m open to  _ negotiation _ .”

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.  “I’m sending you the coordinates. We can arrange a tour of the facility, to see if it meets your expectations.”

 

Duo accepted an overlaid transmission, pulling up the coordinates.  Brussels.  “Guess I don’t have anything better to,” he responded, pulling up a second window to look at flights.

 

“I’ll make sure your nutritional needs are met.”

 

He glanced up sharply to see a spark of humor in dark eyes, just before the connection was cut.

 

_ Very interesting, indeed. _

 

*

 

They met at a Piola Libri, a choice that surprised Duo.  He’d have expected a tea shop, or even just some kind of shady bar in the bad part of town.

 

But no, Wufei had chosen a combination bookstore and  _ wine bar _ of all places and when Duo got there he had actually ordered wine and fancy ass sandwiches and Duo was so totally bewildered that he almost left.  Except that Wufei had spotted him just before he could make up his mind, so he’d continued over as though he hadn’t been cataloguing escape routes, until he was seated across the table from him.

 

“Not to be rude, my man, but what the fuck?  I was expecting a  _ mission _ , not a date.”

 

Wufei chuckled low in his throat.  “You said you wanted to be wined and dined.  I thought you might say no out of hand if I didn’t provide the requested accoutrements.”

 

He settled into his meal, which was admittedly better than the sawdust flavored chicken they’d served him on the plane.  Wufei seemed absorbed in the local paper, but Duo caught just enough glances his way to know he was waiting on a reaction.  

 

Duo was loathe to comply.

 

Finally, once the wine was gone, and most of the sandwich, he leaned forward and said, quietly, “Alright, I’ve flown halfway across the damn planet and had lunch with you, hows about you tell me what this is all about.”

 

Wufei smirked. Standing, he tossed a few bills on the table, not even glancing back to see if Duo was following.  

 

_ God dammit. _

 

Duo followed, unable to just walk away.  

 

_ Story of my life. _

 

*

 

They’d ended up at some nondescript government building labeled “Interior Department” though Duo knew enough about infiltrating government installations to recognize some kind of top secret shit when he saw it.  Wufei deposited himself on a bench in the park-like area outside the building without saying a word, Duo following him with an exasperated sigh.

 

“Do you trust me?”  Wufei was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, most of his gaze focused on the building.

 

Duo looked him over carefully, evaluating their surroundings, Wufei’s posture, the situation.  It felt benign to him, for the most part, and he hadn’t lived this long without trusting his instincts.  Besides, wasn’t much he couldn’t sneak into or out of, if he had a mind to. There had only been 4 people in the whole Earth Sphere who’d been on his side, and the man sitting on his left had been one of them.  He shrugged.  

 

“You know I do, or I wouldn’t have come.”

 

Wufei’s shoulders relaxed, marginally, as some previously unnoted tension left them.  “I work here, in this building.  Protecting the peace.” He paused, looking at Duo carefully.  “By whatever means necessary.”  He waited, knowing Duo would understand his meaning. The braided man nodded.  “I need your help.”

 

“All you had to do was say so.”

 

When Colonel - sorry,  _ former Colonel _ \- Une walked into the office where he and Wufei had broken in and were patiently waiting, Duo wasn’t sure who was more surprised - him, or the lady in question.  Of all the things he’d been prepared for, that hadn’t even been on the radar.

 

He hid it better, a bitter smile frozen on his face, but they were both taken aback.  

 

“Well, Chang, what a marvelous surprise.  And dare I ask what you’re doing in my office?  With Maxwell, no less.  Delightful.”  

 

Duo thought she could stand to lay off the sarcasm,  _ just a little _ .  He snorted.

 

“You told me to get a new explosives expert. I did.”

 

“I think you know this isn’t what I meant.”

 

“I’m not sure what you  _ meant _ .  You told me Minkov wasn’t fit for duty, and wouldn’t be for some time, if ever, and that I needed to replace him in time for an upcoming mission.  You didn’t provide me with a pool of  _ applicants _ .  As we’ve previously… discussed… I don’t work well with people I don’t trust.  I recruited Maxwell.”

 

Duo, to his credit (and Wufei owed him big time), didn’t say a word. Just smiled slyly at Une.  Though he felt he could’ve at least been given a hint as to what he was walking into. 

 

“I think you’ve spent too much time with Sally. You still have all of the files you were previously provided with.”

 

The Chinese man shrugged, eloquently, but said nothing.  

 

Une looked between the two of them, consideringly.  “What does Maxwell have that nobody else in the organization can provide?”

 

Duo huffed out a laugh, but didn’t say a word, glancing over at Wufei.  Who raised his eyebrow at Une, still silent.

 

The frustration on her face was evident, but he could see she was going to concede.  Clearly this was a road they’d been down before.  “Fine. Fine!  Do what you want, you’re going to anyway.”

 

“He gets the same deal as me.”  Wufei spoke, finally, voice firm.

 

“What deal is that, Chang?”

 

“He’s the only survivor of the Maxwell Church Massacre.”  Duo froze, smile carefully in place, and said nothing. That made twice in one day he’d been caught flat-footed. How Wufei had known, he didn’t have a clue, but it was obviously his trump card, and Duo wasn’t about to ruin it.  “He’ll receive the same anonymity and consideration you offered me.  Gundam Pilot 02 and Duo Maxwell will never be connected.”

 

“Fine.  Take him down to HR and get him a damn badge, for God’s sake, before you take him to the classified section.”  She rolled her eyes, a hint of ‘how do I get myself into these messes’ on her face.  

 

Wufei stood, intention to leave clear, and Duo followed, tipping the brim of his cap at Une as he left.  She smirked at him, just a hint of smug self-satisfaction in her gaze.

 

It made Duo nervous.

 

*

 

They didn’t get far before Duo yanked him into a dark alcove.  “You wanna tell me what ‘n the fuck  _ that _ was all about?”  They were bare inches apart, voices scarcely above a whisper.  Maybe this wasn’t the time or place, but Duo wanted answers, and he was going to have them before he took one more step into this… whatever this was.

 

Backed against a wall, trapped by Duo’s arms, Wufei scowled up at him.  “I’d planned to show you, actually.”

 

“You know good and damn well I’ve already said yes, but before I follow you down the rabbit hole,  _ Alice, _ you’re going to give me a bit more to go on.  I don’t like goin’ in blind, as you ought to understand.”  It was scathingly said, and Duo could feel his temperature rising.

 

Literally.

 

_ Shit. _

 

He shoved away from Wufei, irritated beyond reason, and leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed belligerently.  “I’m not goin’ anywhere til you tell me what kinda show you’re runnin’ here.”

 

Wufei sighed, seeming equally frustrated.  Straightening up, he brushed his sleeves off as though Duo’d left some sort of residue on him when he grabbed his arm.  He stepped in close, ignoring body language that practically screamed ‘back off’, and tilted his chin up, lips near Duo’s ear.  “Black ops. Off the books. I expected it to appeal to your… devious proclivities,” he breathed.

 

Duo shivered, though he couldn’t have said whether it was the proximity of the other man or the anticipation of being back in the field. He met the dark gaze sparking up at him, grinning fiercely.  “Shoulda just said so, man.  You know I’m always down to wreck shit.”

 

He’d expected Wufei to move at his words, but the Chinese pilot hovered, fully in his personal space, for just a moment, eyeing him contemplatively.  Then he was gone, walking out into the hall as though the moment had never happened.  Duo trailed along more sedately, hands in his pockets, observing the other man thoughtfully.

 

*

 

The paperwork had been interminable.  A fact which Duo had complained about, loudly, at every conceivable opportunity and which Wufei had found quietly amusing.  At least he wasn’t the only one baffled by bureaucratic necessity. 

 

Finally, they were headed down to the training facility and housing.  

 

“Dr. Geary is our resident scientist, he’s probably off somewhere inventing a radioactive sling shot or some other idiocy, but you’ll have plenty of opportunity to meet him, don’t worry.  Or, do worry as the man is a crackpot. This is the weapons lab, which we call Defense Armament-”

 

“Secret la-BOR-atory, Wufei, get it right.”

 

“-and there are also testing sites and conference rooms here where we mission brief.”  Wufei continued, pretending Duo hadn’t spoken.  “We’ve added a CQC gym down here as well, since the fact that I’m an active field agent is classified. Apparently, it attracts  _ attention _ when the computer analysts are combat experts. Housing is one floor below, we share it with the rest of the team and Dr. Geary, along with an assistant or two.”  

 

They stepped into the gym and Duo was just starting to admire the state of the art equipment when-

 

“Maxwell! You stupid bastard, what are you doing here?”

 

His eyes widened, comically, as he turned to the voice, though not before shooting an accusing look at Wufei.  Evidently he had failed to mention Hilde’s presence on the team.  

 

_ Error on my part, clearly. _

 

“Hilde-bell!  Long time no see!”  Duo turned his most charming smile towards her, arms outstretched for a hug.  

 

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?  Don’t give me that charming boy scout bullshit either!  You’ve been avoiding me for months and now you’ve shown up here like nothing’s changed and you think I’m going to be pleased enough to  **hug you** ?  You need a swift kick in the nads!”  Duo grimaced, scratching at his neck.  The rest of the team had trailed in behind her, looking perplexed, though whether they were following the sounds of her unleashed fury or had all been coming this way in the first place, Wufei wasn’t sure.

 

He took a step forward looking as confused as the others.  “I’ve asked him to join us for explosives.  As Une explained, Minkov isn’t fit for field duty, at least not at the present time, and we can’t do without the expertise.”

 

Hilde rounded on him, fury flashing on her face, and he stepped back involuntarily.  “Oh  _ you _ have, have you?  And you didn’t think to  _ mention _ this bright idea to me, oh I don’t know, when  **we were talking about him last week** ?”

 

“As Commander, I make those dec-”  He could see immediately that he’d made a tactical error as she took a step in his direction, fire in her eyes.  “Even you mentioned his propensity for explosions, so it made sense, since I intended to contact him anyway-”  Wufei was backtracking, verbally and physically, hands held out placatingly in front of him.

 

“Wait, you were talking about me? What the fuck for?”  

 

Distracted, she turned back to the original object of her fury.  “Yes, I asked him to check on you, idiot, since you can’t be bothered to let me know you’re alive and breathing. I didn’t intend him to  **offer you a job** .”  She’d advanced on him with every word til they were standing toe to toe, staring up at him from her lesser height, finger pointed accusingly.

 

The height difference didn’t make her any less intimidating, but Duo had taught her everything she knew, and he wasn’t going to back down.

 

“I don’t need a babysitter Schbeiker!  What the hell?!”

 

“Well  **maybe** if you’d bother to  **call me back** once in awhile, I wouldn’t have been bothered to worry!  Obviously you  **do** need a babysitter, to teach you to operate a phone properly!”

 

The rest of the team was looking back and forth between the two of them.  Wufei was starting to think they were having a lovers’ spat, despite the fact that Schbeiker hadn’t implied anything of the sort to him.  Fonseca took a step forward, as if to intervene, but Wufei shook his head minutely.  Better to let them have it out now, so they could get it out of their systems.

 

And anyone who got between them would probably need hospitalization, if he were being honest.

 

“Why should you be  **worried** , I can take care of my damn self, have done for my whole life!”

 

“You-  you self-righteous, smug, - arghhhh!”  Infuriated beyond belief, she took a swing at him, which he dodged with ease, grabbing hold of her arm and dragging it down.  She flowed with it though, dropping to the ground and throwing her leg out in a kick that just missed his face, forcing him to let go of her wrist as she rolled backward to her feet.

 

What followed was the most knock-down, drag out, dirty fight any of them had ever bore witness to.  

 

Ear and hair pulling, groin shots by both of them, Hilde had executed a maneuver using Duo’s knee as a stepping stone to wrapping her legs around his neck, dragging him down to the ground. Once there, she’d clambered on top of him for a punch to the throat that would have landed if he hadn’t thrown her over his head before rolling back to his feet.  Duo took an elbow to the nose, retaliated with a jab to the kidney that would hurt for weeks, and Hilde responded by tangling their feet together, taking both of them to the floor.  She had Duo in an armbar, legs across his chest, one arm hooked in his elbow as he resisted, pulling his own arm against her hold with his other hand.  

 

Wufei watched, impressed, as Duo released his wrist, grabbed hers, yanked her arm out and elbowed her in the groin, rolling away, feral grin on his face.  

 

He didn’t think they were pulling their punches at all, and he was certain both of them had bruised ribs, if not cracked.   Hilde was back on her feet, advancing towards Duo, who dropped into a loose crouch, hands at the ready, and Wufei was beginning to think it was necessary for him intervene after all…

 

When Duo stopped, dropping his hands to his sides, palms open.  Wufei thought he saw a flash of… something… but it was gone so quickly it could have been imagined.  

 

“Truce! Truce.  We’re gonna hurt ourselves here.  Sorry I didn’t call.  I’m a shit friend, forgive me anyway?”

 

Privately, Wufei felt they had already hurt themselves.  They were both breathless and sweaty, Duo had blood smeared across his face from his nose, Hilde with a rapidly swelling cheekbone, and God only knew what kind of injuries he couldn’t see.  

 

Hilde blew out an exasperated breath, dropping her arms as well, though she clearly didn’t feel done with the mutual beatdown they’d been enjoying.  “What the fuck, Duo?  You took off from the yard like your ass was on fire, a week before I left for training, with barely a goodbye.  And then, you started treating me like I had the damn plague.  Just… what the fuck?”

 

Duo sighed, shrugging.  “You were just… you were excited about leaving, coming here, and you were talking about me maybe coming with you, and… you’d been… I dunno, gettin’ friendlier… and I didn’t want to… to hurt you or anythin’ but… I wasn’t… I’m not....”

 

“You ass!  I was trying to be your  _ friend _ .  What’d you think, I was trying to  _ seduce _ you?”

 

He was suspiciously silent, flush climbing up his throat. 

 

“You are a moron.”  She walked over, punched him the shoulder, though it was a friendly punch this time, and hugged him round the waist with one arm.  “You’re not even my type.” 

 

Introductions with the rest of the team went much more smoothly.  For one, watching Hilde and Duo beat the crap out of each other seemed to function as something of an icebreaker.  Then Duo’s unexpected embarrassment nicely rounded the afternoon out, easing everyone’s nervousness.  

 

No one could embarrass themselves more, really, than he already had.  

 

*

 

It’d been more than a week since Duo’d agreed to join Wufei’s merry band of misfits, and he had yet to meet the infamous Dr. Geary.  Apparently, he’d never been so uncharacteristically absent before Duo’s arrival.  Hilde and Vinny had even gone so far as to start a betting pool on whether the old man had gotten a terminal illness or a girlfriend.

 

He was starting to think they’d made the guy up, like some kind of weird prank.  

 

Duo’d put his money on the disease option, though, just to be safe.  

 

So when he heard a raspy, nasal voice call a greeting from behind him in the armory, it was lucky he didn’t have a loaded weapon in his hand.  

 

Not just because he hadn’t been expecting anyone.

 

He  _ knew _ that voice.

 

Whirling around so fast his braid almost smacked Wufei in the mouth, his eyes fell on an impossible face.  It was like getting sucker punched by the past.  For a second, he couldn’t even breathe.  He stared at a familiar scarred face, long nose.  The hair was different, but everything else was exactly the same, like it’d been plucked out of his dreams, his nightmares.

 

He cut his eyes towards Wufei, carefully keeping the newcomer in his sights.  “Is this some kinda fucked up joke?  Cause it’s not fuckin’ funny.”

 

Wufei blinked at him, mystified.

 

Duo turned his attention back to their visitor, irritation rising.  “Why aren't you  _ dead _ ?”

 

“Well, you didn't really give it your best effort, as I recall.”

 

The braided man opened his mouth, to say what he didn’t know, but Wufei beat him to it.  

 

“Maxwell.  How do you know Dr. Geary?”  He sounded puzzled and wary.  Might’ve been the references to the man’s planned death.

 

“Dr. fucking  _ Geary _ , huh?  That’s rich.  I knew him as Professor G.”  He pinned Wufei with a stare, heated anger pouring off of him in waves.  “He send you to come get me, is that why you offered me a  _ job _ ?  Meddling old bastard never could let shit lie.” He turned back to the scientist.  “You really are a goddamn pestilence, you know that?” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Duo.  I told no one I was even contacting you, except Schbeiker.  What is this about?”  Wufei still sounded wary, but Duo could tell he was making an effort to appease him.  Hell, he’d called him by his first name, something he almost never did.

 

He felt his lips curve into that old smile, the dark one, edged like a sharp blade, promising suffering to anyone unfortunate enough to see it.  Duo’d always thought of it as Shinigami’s smile, and he could feel that part of himself rising to the forefront of his mind.  “The good  _ doctor _ didn’t tell you?”  He sneered.  “G ran the Gundam program on L2.”

 

Turning on his heel, he slammed out of the armory, gut churning and thoughts lost in the past.  

 

*

 

By the time Wufei found him, hours later, he was exhausted.  

 

He’d tried to work off his frustration, first by throwing himself into battle sims, and then with good, old fashioned sweating in the gym.  He’d been successful in wearing himself out, but the pain and anger still simmered, just below the surface.

 

Just waiting on a spark.

 

He was slumped on another bench in the park, as far from the damned Preventers building as he could get and still be secluded, when he heard purposeful footsteps to his right.  Turning his head, he spotted the slim Chinese man, standing a respectful distance away.  

 

Duo appreciated the warning, and the consideration, but he figured he owed the other man an explanation.  He gave him a nod, inviting Wufei closer.  The other man headed over, footsteps considerably quieter, and sank onto the bench, settling himself silently.

 

Neither of them spoke.  He figured Wufei was waiting on him, but for once in his life, words failed him. 

 

“Dr. Geary, or whoever he really is, is currently locked in an interrogation room, refusing to talk to anyone, with a smug smile on his face.  Une refused my request to beat the information out of him.”

 

Duo snorted, amusement warring with the frustration he felt, momentarily winning.  Then he sighed, exhaustion overwhelming everything else.  “You can let him out.  For all I know, his name really is Geary.  He hasn’t done anything, not really, except let me believe he was dead and be a pain in the ass.  It just caught me by surprise.”

 

Wufei hummed a noncommittal noise, waiting.

 

“How’d you know about my past?”  Duo asked, suddenly, into the silence.  He’d been wondering, but there hadn’t been a good opportunity to bring it up, before now.

 

Wufei turned to look at him, thoughtfully.  “It was a… well more than a guess, I suppose, but deductive reasoning on my part, anyway.  My clan kept carefully appraised of all the Alliance’s… atrocities.  The Maxwell Church Massacre was well-known amongst those involved in the Gundam project.  When you turned up during the war, from L2, bearing the familiar moniker, I wondered.  The priest’s garb only encouraged my suspicions.  I took a chance, with Une, but I felt she couldn’t prove you  _ weren’t _ a survivor.” He shrugged minutely.  “I notice you no longer wear the collar.”

 

It wasn’t a question, but Duo understood the intention behind it.  “I, ah, burned it after the war.  Before I left the scrap yard.  It… seemed fitting.”    He paused. “So you know the gist of it then?  What happened, I mean, at the church?”

 

Wufei made an affirmative noise in response. “The Alliance tracked a rebel group to the church, where they'd apparently gone to ground after a small skirmish. Then they razed it to the ground, including the church’s residential area and orphanage, and burned the remains to cover up their crime. It was originally thought there were no survivors.”  He gave Duo a significant look. 

 

“Ah, well, that's mostly true, far as it goes. I shoulda died with the rest of ‘em, but I wasn't there when I shoulda been. And the Alliance didn't burn everything to the ground.” He took a deep breath, hesitating. 

 

_ Might as well get it over with. Won't be a secret anyway, with G around.  _

 

“I did.”

 

He glanced up at Wufei, expecting shock or horror, but instead found a dark, speculative gaze focused on him.  “Perhaps… you should start at the beginning.”

 

Duo’s own thoughts turned inward.  “I don’t really remember the beginning.  I was on the streets for as long as I can remember.  I was part of a street gang, for a while… then the L2 plague… and there wasn’ a gang anymore.  We got rounded up, then, an’ put in foster care or shipped off somewheres, I don’t even know where half of ‘em ended up.”  His speech was deteriorating, he could hear old patterns creeping back, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“I wound up at th’ church.  Was the only people ever cared about me for  _ me _ .  They didn’ want nothin’ from me.  Jus’ tryin’ ta help.  Do good in the world, ya know?”

 

Wufei nodded, but didn’t speak.

 

“The  _ rebels _ ,” Duo spat the word, disgusted, “invaded the church.  They weren’ lookin’ for  _ refuge _ , they jus’ figured the Alliance wouldn’ blow a church fulla orphans ta hell an’ back.  Demanded a damn mobile suit, like  **that** was gonna win tha war for ‘em.  So I offered ta steal ‘em a damn suit if they’d jus’ fuckin’ leave.”  

 

He was silent for a long time, but Wufei waited patiently.

 

“I wasn’t there when the soldiers showed up.  I was off stealing a goddamn suit from the base that was strangely easy to sneak onto.  Because all the personnel were off  **blowing up my home** .”  His voice wavered with anger, but he’d stuffed the L2 accent back down where it belonged.  “I came back to a bombed out shell, everyone I knew dead, except one nun who’d taught me to braid my hair.  And hugged me when no one else had ever done.”  He took a deep, shuddering breath.  “She blessed me with her dying words.”

 

Duo held his right hand out, palm up. Flames sprang from nothing, the vague outline of a church’s steeple easily identifiable.  Wufei didn’t even flinch, just watched him intently.

 

“The next thing I knew, the world around me exploded into flame that couldn’t touch me.  And everything I’d ever loved burned to ashes at my touch.”  He met Wufei’s eyes, crushing the visage of a church in his fist.  

 

“I hooked up with G couple of years later.  I’d been honing my skills with a local rebel gang, snuck onto the wrong off-colony transport.  Or the right one, you might say.  Got real good at blowing shit up, not just with my hands, though we worked on that too.”  He blew out an exasperated breath, flopping backwards on the bench, looking up at the clear night sky, eyes automatically searching out L2 on the horizon.  “Thought I’d left all that behind, til today.”  He closed his eyes, feeling weighed down by his past.

 

Light, cool rain fell on his face, cooling his temperature and his temper.  He sighed, relaxing.

 

_ Wait a second… _

 

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

 

He sat up abruptly, looking around for the source of the water.  

 

Next to him, amidst the cooling mist, was Wufei, not a drop of water on him, smiling serenely.

 

“We all have our secrets, Duo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to ChronicWhimsy for the beta read and encouragement!
> 
> “ot eotZ Fw titac.novc” is an Ubchi cipher. It means “Five to contact two.” using the keyword “gundam” The ubchi cipher was used by the Germans during World War I. Honestly it’s a really simple cipher, comparatively speaking, but pretend they weren’t trying to be completely impossible to decipher, just difficult enough not to attract notice. Like Sally’s message last chapter. GO WITH IT.
> 
> Anything remotely computer/internet/spy related is 1000% made up, and totally inaccurate.
> 
> Piola Libri is a real wine bar in Brussels, but again, I’ve never been there, just adopted to suit my purposes.
> 
> Hilde’s fighting style is HEAVILY influenced by Ilsa Faust, from Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation. The exact move that I tried to describe which involved her basically climbing Duo like a tree, is taken directly from a scene in that movie, except Ilsa does it in a yellow silk dress. Bow chicka wow wow. The arm-bar breaking move I describe Duo doing is real, legit, and really legitimately works, as long as you don’t let your arm get completely extended before you do it. 
> 
> I hope you were all pleasantly surprised by my Dr. Geary/Professor G reveal, and I hope it was at least a little bit unexpected. I know I’ve stretched canon a bit here, as Une certainly should have recognized G, I think, but just go with it.
> 
> I’ve obviously taken some liberties with Duo’s past, and I’m making up this Newtype business as I go.


	7. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo and Wufei start experimenting, and the team gets a new mission involving an old friend.

_I can’t help this awful energy,_

_God damned right you should be scared of me_

_Who is in control?_

_I’m well acquainted with the villains that live in my head._

 

Control - Halsey

* * *

 

 

 

Duo was fidgeting.

 

Again.

 

He couldn’t seem to stop.  It was late evening, they’d been in the gym all afternoon, first doing a series of katas Wufei had shown him, and now a failed attempt at Duo trying to ‘settle his mind.’

 

Whatever the hell that meant.

 

Wufei had, since Duo’d joined the black ops team, been trying to work with him on getting total control of his abilities.  It was easy enough to set shit on fire.  Duo was a renowned expert in that, and his innate understanding of flammability, back drafts, and fuel sources had made him notoriously good with explosives.  The problem was that it wasn’t as easy to **not** set shit on fire.  Every time his emotions ran high, his temperature ran with it.  Duo was intimately familiar with the problem, accustomed to taking a step back, taking a walk, stuffing the problem back where it belonged. Avoidance was an art form he’d perfected.  He’d got through the whole war, after all, without _accidentally_ barbecuing anything.  So while he didn’t have perfect control of his abilities, he’d learned to mellow his temper.

 

In contrast, Wufei had complete and total mastery over everything he did, even though his fuse was even shorter than Duo’s.

 

The unintentional pun made him snicker, and he felt, more than heard, Wufei sigh next to him.  “Sorry man, I don’t really think meditation is for me.”  He scrubbed a hand through his hair.  “Too much sittin’ and thinkin’.  I’m a more a ‘little less talk, lot more action’ type.”

 

“Maxwell, you’ve never been ‘less talk’ in your life.  But, let’s… try something different.”  Wufei stood, unfolding gracefully from his crouch on the mat, and Duo tried not to stare.  He’d caught himself at that more often than felt comfortable lately.  He’d always admired the Chinese pilot, his ethics and his determination, and now he found himself admiring him physically a little more than the other man would probably appreciate.  Duo didn’t mind being a bit of a letch as a joke, but he didn’t want to make Wufei uncomfortable.  Shaking his head to dispel his traitorous thoughts, he stood as well.

 

“I dunno, ‘Fei, I mean we’ve made good progress here right?  I haven’t made anything go boom and I’ve been able to spar with everyone, including Hilde, without losing my temper.  This is probably as good as it gets.”

 

Wufei hummed thoughtfully, evaluating him with dark eyes.  “How good _does_ it get?”

 

Duo did a doubletake.  “Uh, what?”

 

“Have you ever tried to explore the boundaries of what you can do?”

 

That… wasn’t what Duo had thought he meant.  “Uh, no, not really.  Mostly I just try to keep it under control.  Last time I didn’t… well, you know, it didn’t end well.”  Another scrutinizing gaze.  Duo was starting to feel a little like a zoo exhibit, and he didn’t like it.  “You wanna get to the point already?” he asked, irritation rising.

 

“How can you control something, if you do not even know what you’re trying to command?” He turned to go, glancing over his shoulder.  “Come with me.”

 

Duo was getting real tired of following Chang Wufei’s ass all over creation.

 

Well, that wasn’t strictly true.  He was tired of being kept in the dark and led around by the nose.

 

The ass was spectacular.  

 

And there he went again, mind straying to inappropriate avenues.  Giving an annoyed huff, he trudged off after the shorter man.

 

They came to a halt, their destination a lab that Duo didn’t remember ever seeing in use, Wufei keying in the access code.  Inside it resembled nothing so much as a blank, metal box.  There wasn’t even any furniture.  Wufei gestured him inside, expectantly.

 

Duo stood just outside the door, looking mutinous, arms crossed.  “What’re we doing here?”  

 

Wufei stared at him, a faint look of ‘are you an idiot’ look on his face, before sighing explosively.  “What have we been discussing for the last ten minutes?  We’re going to explore exactly what you can do.  Assuming you can be convinced to cooperate before I die of old age.”

 

A thread of dark amusement worked its way into Duo’s grin, but it wasn’t enough to get him past his sudden anxiety.  He didn’t budge.  “Oh yeah?  How’re you thinking **we’re** gonna do that then?  I could burn the whole building down, then what?  It wouldn’t be the first time.  I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”

 

Wufei practically growled, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.  

 

Duo shouldn’t enjoy this so much, he really shouldn’t, but it was so easy to rile the other man up.  

 

“I’ve been assured that we could practically set off a small nuclear explosion in this room and not damage it, Maxwell, I think it’s safe to say you can probably **practice** in it.”

 

Shrugging, Duo stepped into the room, looking skeptical.  Stopping in the center of the room, he spread his arms out, looking at Wufei.  “Now what?”

 

 

Wufei motioned towards various sensors, vents, and exhaust fans.  “The room is designed to accommodate any sort of combustion.  It was intended for use in explosives and flammability testing. It will keep air circulating in and smoke out until the material being tested burns itself out.  In this case, that’s you.”

 

“How convenient that we happen to have this setup all ready to go,” Duo muttered, sourly, thinking of G.  “And what’re you gonna be doin’?”

 

“Waiting outside,” came the dry, slightly sarcastic response.  Duo nodded, even though Wufei had already turned away.  The door shut with a slight clang, and there was the gentle whir of fans coming online.

 

 _Fuck it._ He trusted Wufei, more than anyone else he knew, if he were being honest.  And the guy had a point about figuring this out.  He was a liability in a lot of ways.  During the war, he’d always worked alone, so he was the only person risking a flaming demise if his emotions got the best of him.  Now he had other people to consider.  Other lives at risk if he suddenly lost control.

 

No, it was better to know, once and for all, just how far he could take this.

 

He decided to let ‘er rip.

 

*

 

Wufei watched through the reinforced glass window, waiting. He had long suspected that the main issue at the heart of Maxwell’s control was fear.  Fear that he would hurt someone.  Specifically, fear that he would hurt Wufei or the team.  Not that the braided man would ever admit it, probably not even to himself.  But that didn’t make it any less true.

 

The other man never let loose, always in strict control of moods and his actions, backing down at the slightest hint that he might lose control of that iron grip he held over himself.  The cheerful, jokester persona he projected was a big part of that.  Wufei could see the banked temper in his gaze, behind the jester’s mask.

 

It was hard to stay angry if you were laughing.

 

Duo was locking that part of himself away, because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.  

 

Well, they were about to find out.

 

Inside the lab, hands lifted to waist level, palms up, Duo far surpassed the flickers of fire he’d shown off at the park.  Wufei watched, enrapt, as flames built until they engulfed the room, Duo at the center, eyes closed, a vortex in the dancing columns of billowing red and orange, twisting waves of violet the same shade as Duo’s eyes at their center.  The man himself appeared a shimmering mirage - like the air over hot pavement - though whether that was a testament to the heat of the room or some other aspect of his abilities, Wufei didn’t know.

 

Long minutes ticked by, and the braided pilot wasn’t even breaking a sweat, showed no signs of slowing down.  Wufei glanced over at the room’s monitors, noting the temperature. Weighing his options, he reached for the door, hesitantly.  If he opened it, the unexpected draft from the hallway could, theoretically, cause problems.  But the fire in the room was being completely generated by Maxwell - it wasn’t a traditional fire, it didn’t even have a fuel source. Just Maxwell’s grit and will, which Wufei was beginning to believe matched or surpassed his own.  He needed to prove to the other man, convincingly, of his own mastery over his element.  

 

Keying in the code, he slipped, quickly and silently, into the inferno.

 

*

Duo started as familiar fingers, cool and confident, wrapped around his wrist.  As quickly as the flames had begun, they were gone, the atmosphere in the room still hot and dry against the hum of the fans.  He looked up wildly, meeting a dark, amused gaze.  His mouth worked soundlessly, words crowding his head.  Another cool touch brushed the hair out of his face, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

 

“What the fuck?!” he exploded, confusion and fear warring in his chest.  “You could have died, you could have- how are you not dead?!”

 

“Duo,” Wufei smirked, clearly enjoying turning the other man’s world upside down, “dragons are fireproof.”

 

*

 

After Wufei’s little stunt, Duo had stormed out of the compound in a black mood, anger and confusion churning like sludge in his gut.  He’d headed straight for his bike, driven by a desire for speed and forgetfulness, weaving aimlessly through the city for what felt like hours.  Normally time spent on the sleek, powerful motorcycle relaxed him, gave him an opportunity to lose himself in the mindlessness of the road and the routine of shifting gears and acceleration.  Not so tonight.  His gas tank running low, he finally pulled into a small park in the European Quarter, and found himself sitting at the edge of a pond, staring at nothing.  

 

What the hell the Chinese pilot had been playing at, Duo didn’t know, but he was equal parts infuriated and… something he couldn’t quite name.  It was like fear’s distant cousin. A crushing sensation in his chest.  When he’d first looked up and seen Wufei standing there, the shock and alarm had been so great that he’d completely lost control.  

 

Actually, now that he thought about it, that wasn’t really true.  He’d completely shut down, but he hadn’t lost control.  The flames he worried so much about had gone out like a birthday candle, ceasing to be as though they had never existed. Not that it mattered, because Wufei _had walked through the fire like it was nothing._  Which absolutely boggled his mind, because he had seen, in technicolor, the brutal, destructive force he could bring to bear.  There had been nothing left of the church, except charred rubble and heat-twisted metal.  

 

_How the fuck did he do it?_

 

He couldn’t understand it, which was maddening, but some traitorous part of him was starting to feel the faintest flutterings of an unnamed emotion.  It felt like hope, or relief, or a thousand other things he hadn’t wanted, or been entitled to, since even before he had lived at the church, not since _Solo_.  

 

Which only pissed him off more.

 

Rising with a growl, he jammed his helmet back on, striding to the bike.  Fuck this introspective bullshit.  He wanted answers, and he knew where to find them.

 

Arriving back at the Preventers building he took the elevator down to their residential floor, helmet tucked under his arm, riding gloves still on.  His self-righteous anger carried him all the way to Wufei’s quarters, fist poised to hammer on the door, before the fury vanished as quickly as the flames he conjured.  Deflating, reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions, he paused, wondering what in the hell he thought he was doing.  He stood there, in silence, his heartbeat ticking off the seconds, debating with himself, hand falling loosely to his side.

 

Several long minutes later, the door opened, Wufei’s eyebrow raised in question.  “Did you forget how to knock?”  When he didn’t get an answer he rolled his eyes, stepping to the side, motioning the taller man into the room, closing the door behind him.  “Well?  Are you planning to speak, or are you embarking on a new career as a mime?”

 

Duo snorted, the poor joke jolting him out of his brooding. “Hardly,” he retorted, scrubbing a hand through his bangs, hair catching on the gloves.  He peeled them off, stuffing them in his pocket, and glanced around at the apartment, identical in layout to his own.  Wufei pointed him towards a chair at the small dinette set as he turned towards the kitchen, and Duo collapsed into it, dropping his helmet on the floor beside him and shucking his jacket off.  He leaned back, groaning, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

 

A mug of tea nudged his arm, and he sat forward to look at the supplier.  Lifting the mug, he watched Wufei as he sipped, wondering where to start.  

 

Giving a mental shrug, he figured he might as well take the tiger by the tail.   _Or dragon, whatever._  He sat the tea aside.

 

“Wanna tell me what in the fuck that was? And don’t act like you don’t know what I mean.”

 

Wufei sat his own mug down, shifting it out of the way.  “Hold up your hand.”

 

Duo wasn’t really in the mood for show and tell.  Only the sure knowledge that Wufei, who could match him point for point in stubborn and bullheaded behavior, wasn’t going to be rushed through whatever show he’d decided to put on, forced him to participate.   He did as he was asked, fingers up, like a high five, barely containing his impatience.

 

“Make a fire, like in the park.  A small one.”  

 

Flames engulfed his hand like a glove.  He eyed Wufei, not bothering to hide either his irritation or unease.  He’d have thought by now Wufei would understand his displeasure with surprises and lack of communication.  He’d brought it up often enough.

 

Wufei held his own hand up, reaching out, until his palm was almost, but not quite, touching Duo’s.  He didn’t flinch, though it had to be hot.  “Look closely at our hands.”   

 

Duo leaned forward, examining the palm so close to his own.  Where the flames should have licked into Wufei’s skin, they danced just millimeters away, not touching him.  Tentatively, he pushed more power into the fire, watching it surround Wufei’s hand, but the scarred, tan skin remained unharmed.

 

He took a deep, shuddering breath.  Wufei stretched his own arm just a bit more, threading his fingers with Duo’s.  The fire disappeared, calmed by the cool, calloused hand entwined with his own.  A thumb stroked along the edge of Duo’s hand, just beneath his thumb, soothing and steadying.  Watching Duo’s reaction.

 

Of course, he was on the verge of a freak out, so that was probably fair.  The stroking helped.  It helped a lot, more than Duo wanted to admit.  He took another deep breath, swallowing past the lump in his throat,  that insidious _hopeful_ feeling, the one that had started in the lab, followed him around the city.  

 

He didn’t _want_ it, dammit.  Daring to hope left a life littered with destruction, in his experience.

 

The familiar frustration helped to ground him.  

 

“Dragons are fireproof?”  He echoed Wufei’s own words, but there was a query in them.  Duo needed to understand.  Wufei was studying their hands, contemplative look on his face.  The gentle caressing stopped, but he didn’t let go.

 

A small snort, the huff of a laugh.  “I was joking. I’m no dragon.  Just a man with some… unusual abilities.  Much like yourself.”  Dark eyes flashed up to meet his, before returning to their intense study of the joined hands.

 

“I don’t get it.  Dragons… breathe fire? Right?  But that day in the park, you made it rain.”

 

“In Chinese culture, dragons control the weather, the water.  In our legends, an angry dragon could cause a flood, or a typhoon.  Or a drought.  The only fire-breather here is you.”  Another chuckle.  “My clan… thought I was a reincarnation of a mythological beast, for many reasons, most of them related to my birth.  The development of an ability to control the water around me only… compounded the situation.”  He sighed, some old hurt making itself known.  Duo squeezed the hand still gripping his.  He got a small squeeze in return, a faint smile.

 

“So what makes you fireproof?  I don’t see any scales.”  Duo was starting to relax, the mellow humor and explanation easing something knotted inside of him.  This was something else they had in common, something besides the destruction of a home.  

 

It helped, more than he would have expected.  By now he was just ignoring the fluttery, optimistic feeling in his gut like it didn’t exist.

 

Besides, Wufei was _fucking fireproof_.  If there was anybody Duo could be _hopeful_ about, it was him.

 

Another dry, amused chuckle.  “I’m not, really.  I just,” he paused, thinking, “I manipulate the moisture in the air around me.  It forms a kind of…shield, that protects me from the flames and the heat.  It was something I trained myself to do, during the war.”

 

He looked at Duo shrewdly.  “Do you only manipulate your own flames, or can you control any fire around you?”

 

Shinigami’s smile crept out along the edges of Duo’s answering grin.  “If you light it up, I can make it bigger, badder, faster, more destructive.  Or I can contain it, keep it to one area, make it burn hotter and brighter.  It’s pretty flexible, really.  Figured out all my secrets over there ‘Fei?”

 

“Doubtful.  Just considering other avenues we can explore.  I want to review the data from the lab as well.”

 

Duo started.  He hadn’t thought of that, at all.  “I want that data wiped.  No one needs that shit, except me, and you, I guess.”

 

“Already done.  I took a hard copy and wiped the machine.”  

 

He sagged in relief, sighing.  The thought of G with that data… well it made him pretty nervous, if he were being honest.  Not that G meant him any harm, necessarily, but the man didn’t have many scruples when it came to the pursuit of knowledge.  And he’d left plenty of destruction in his wake.

 

The drag of a calloused palm against his own alerted him to the fact that he’d been staring off into space for an unknown amount of time, mind leapfrogging from one thought to another.  Wufei gave his hand a final squeeze before pulling away from where they’d been resting their clasped grip on the table.  “You should think about going to bed, late as it is,” he murmured, gathering the mugs, drifting into the kitchen to rinse them out.

 

Duo glanced up at the clock, startled to find it was nearly three in the morning.  “Uh, yeah, prob’ly should do that.”  He stood, stretching impressively, his back and shoulders popping with relieved tension.  Turning slightly, cracking his neck, he caught the tail end of dark eyes sliding away from where they’d been surreptitiously watching him, cheeks suspiciously warm.

 

Well.

 

That was interesting.  

 

*

 

Duo had taken an inordinate amount of delight in choosing a code name and convincing the powers-that-be of its perfection.   

 

 _Apparently_ there was some sort of bullshit bureaucratic method to choosing one, involving use of the first letter of the last name of the agent in question, and it had to be short and easily recognizable over radio blah blah blah.

 

He hadn't even brought up his wartime moniker. It was ‘too long’ and it ‘didn’t start with the right letter’.  They wouldn’t let him be Johnny Storm for basically the same reasons.  He made a few more ridiculous suggestions (including Human Torch, Pyro, and Phoenix, which was probably the least offensive) before was Sally practically tearing her hair out at the roots.  

 

Then he’d tried to convince them ‘Mort’ would be a great code name.  “But it’s the **_right letter_** , Sally, that’s what you said!”  

 

In the meantime, he'd point-blank _refused_ to answer to anything except ‘oh-two’ on the coms.

 

Finally, when everyone was completely exasperated with him, he’d sprung his _real_ choice on them.  

 

“Ok, guys, I have the perfect code name!”

 

“Maxwell,”  Duo turned to Wufei, eyebrow raised.  They’d had a conversation recently about how, maybe, just maybe, Wufei could call him by his first name.  “Duo.  No one else _picked_ their code names.  They were assigned using the standard system.  Yours should be-”

 

“Nope!  Boring!  Don’t care about what it woulda coulda shoulda been.  Anyway, this one is really good, honest!”

 

In theory, they were gathered in one of the briefing rooms to discuss their next mission, but Duo had monopolized the conversation since Sally had walked into the room. She heaved a long-suffering sigh.  “Oh my god, as long as it meets the requirements for brevity and pronounceability I don’t even care anymore.”  

 

The shark-like grin that spread across his face seemed to give her pause.  He hurried to speak before she changed her mind.  

 

“Diablo!” he crowed.  “It's perfect right?  It starts with a ‘D’ and that’s close enough, I think, plus it’s short, and you can say it on the radio, it doesn’t sound like anything important like, fort, or nuke, or you know, whatever.  It’s pretty distinctive.”

 

Vinny looked at him like he’d lost his mind.  “You want to be the devil?  Literally, the devil.  That's your big idea?”

 

“Alright, first of all, you're a fuckin’ bird, ok, and the superhero you share a name with is only, like, one step up from Aquaman.  Diablo _sounds_ cool.”

 

Hilde snorted from the other side of the room, where she was field stripping her side arm. “During the war he was the fuckin god of death, uh, shimmy-something-or-other.  Trust me when I say, this is an improvement!” She never even looked up from her task.

 

Duo didn’t know whether to appreciate her support, or choke her for slandering his good name.  “It was **Shinigami** , it’s not that hard to remember!”

 

“Wait, isn’t that what you call your _motorcycle_?”  This from Hektor, who looked regretful the moment the words left his mouth.

 

“Which is why it can’t be my code name,” Duo ground out, suddenly doubting his choice.  “Alright fine, what’s the stupid Big Book of Code Names say mine is supposed to be?”

 

Wufei looked darkly amused and Sally was snickering.  “Oh no, Maxwell, you want _Diablo_ , so that’s what you get, bought and paid for.  Hope you enjoy it!”  she replied, laughing harder.

 

Duo suddenly realized he’d been played.  Before he could open his mouth to object, or relent, or whatever it was he might manage to accomplish, Sally continued on, ignoring the sputtering noises he was making.

 

“Anyway, now that the burning question of What To Call _Diablo_ ,” more snickering from all parties, “has been settled, Une has a new mission for you.”  She dropped a stack of files on the table, along with the most recent edition of _New Europe_.  The headline was yet another one about the killer vigilante knocking off mob bosses.

 

Duo groaned.  “Please, please don’t tell me we have to go kill this guy.  Because, if we’re being honest, I kind of like him.”

 

Wufei lifted the paper off the stack, skimming the article.  “I’m forced to admit I agree with Duo.  He’s saving us a lot of trouble, and he’s clearly done his homework.  Every single criminal he’s eliminated has been found to be deeply involved in some terror network or crime syndicate.”

 

“And he’s not knocking off the small fries either!  All the guys he’s gotten rid of have been at least midway in the pecking order!”  Duo added, starting to pull apart the files on the table, dragging out satellite photos for his perusal.

 

Hektor looked mildly mutinous, but he didn’t say anything.  He’d long since given up arguing with the two former pilots about the subject.  They’d been terrorists, as they themselves had pointed out, so their concern with doing things in the proper order was warped, to put it mildly.  

 

Nonexistent would probably be a more accurate descriptor.

 

Sally gave a wry smile.  “Well, I’m glad you all think he’s so wonderful, but we’ve still been instructed to pick him up.  With a very strict directive that he be acquired alive.  I was advised it would be better to let him escape than to eliminate him, so that should make you happy.  Evidently our _favorite_ Minister of Security is causing a ruckus in the council about it, and Une is being pressured from all sides to get him under wraps and out of the limelight.”

 

“The _Minister_ is a fool,” Wufei muttered, disgruntled. They'd recently been informed that the budget for ammunition had been gouged, forcing them to fire their weapons much more conservatively.

 

Duo'd persuaded G to supply him with a wicked set of gundanium throwing knives to help compensate, but Wufei wasn't much for flinging blades about. He had started carrying his sword again though. Just in case.

 

The rest of the team had taken to perusing the non-lethal armory, trying out some of G’s more unusual ideas.  Most of them worked as advertised, though the sound cannon was still problematic, as Hilde had found out to her own detriment a few missions ago.  She’d shouted over temporary hearing damage for several weeks, much to Duo’s amusement.

 

“So we’re to capture Deadshot, the only person with a stupider nickname than Diablo, is that right?”  Hilde called from her spot in the corner, reassembling her now-meticulous weapon. Obviously, he was now paying for the weeks of tormenting her with whispers and distracting knocking noises.

 

“Oi!”

 

“That’s not true,” retorted Vinny, grinning.  Duo opened his mouth to thank him, still flipping through photos, when he continued, “There’s that idiot on L3, the one they’ve taken to calling the Joker, for some inane reason.  Something to do with the fact that he supposedly never smiles?”

 

Duo would have responded, but he was distracted by a zoomed in surveillance photo of what appeared to be a dock.  There was a man lying atop a shipping crate, clearly sighting with a pistol.  He had on dark clothes and a cap, blending almost perfectly in the shadows, but there was something… familiar… about him. Maybe his pose, or technique? He couldn’t put his finger on it.  He slid the photo over to Wufei with a questioning look.

 

Wufei studied it, brow furrowed.  He had the same reaction, tilting the photo at different angles, trying to identify what was prickling at their consciousness.

 

Duo had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, THANK YOU to ChronicWhimsy for being an amazing Beta. 
> 
> Chapter Notes:
> 
> So about that convenient fire hall... just pretend G had that built JUST IN CASE. GO WITH IT.
> 
> THE MOTORCYCLE IS BACK GET EXCITED. (I am.)
> 
> Google taught me about Chinese dragon lore, I apologize for any inconsistencies. 
> 
> I'm still making this NewType business up as I go along.


	8. Nabbing an Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets a new mission to capture a notorious assassin.

_ “I can smell your fear _ __   
_ The only reason that I'm here _ __   
_ Is to wreak havoc _ __   
_ Everybody prayin' that I'll change, yeah _ __   
_ Maybe one day but tomorrow I'll be back at it _ __   
_ 'Cause bad habits they die hard _ __   
_ We live fast we die hard” _ __   
__   
Wreak Havoc - Skylar Grey

 

* * *

 

 

Vinny, surprisingly, had been the one to identify a pattern to Deadshot’s hits.  Then again, maybe not so surprising, given his talent in Operations.  

 

He’d plotted all the marks out and connected them in ever-widening circles of overlapping illegal enterprises.  Each mark was connected to another mark in some way, and once they combined what they knew of the dead men with the Preventers’ own intelligence, they were able to come up with a fairly detailed map of organized crime over most of Europe.

 

It was impressive, really, how much Deadshot seemed to know about the inner workings of all the criminal networks.  

 

Using the data, Vinny had been able to speculate, with a reasonable degree of certainty, three possibilities for the assassin’s next target, all of them in or around Brussels.

 

Of course, then they had to figure out a way to determine which target was the correct one, assuming any of them were.  It was Hilde who suggested that all three targets be placed under surveillance.  

 

“What good’s that gonna do, we’ll know exactly when they’re  _ dead _ ?”  Duo grumbled, “I don’t see how that’s gonna help.”

 

“No, idiot, we watch them for signs of being watched.  I think it’s obvious that this guy is doing at least  _ some _ surveillance himself, to know when and how to strike.  Not all of these deaths are potshots.  If everything we have is correct, some of his hits required pretty extensive planning and up close and personal access to the victim.”

 

“What if he kills the target and we never spot him?” questioned Hektor, who was all around Not Happy with any of this.  

 

“Bah, then that’s one less scumbag  **we** have to go after later.  No loss.”  Duo responded, distractedly.  He was busy evaluating photos of all three possibilities in light of Hilde’s idea.  The muscular Greek agent looked considerably more disgruntled than before.

 

Something was niggling at him, just like the surveillance photos, and it was bugging the hell out of him that he couldn’t figure it out. 

 

“Alright,” Sally announced, standing to go.  “I’ll put surveillance teams on all three potential targets and we’ll watch for suspicious activity, unless someone has a better idea?”

 

*

 

“I thought I had given you strict instructions to deal with this… this Deadshot nonsense.”

 

Une resisted the urge to rub her temples, refusing to show weakness in front of the pompous little man currently giving her a verbal lashing from the other side of his desk.  She’d been called to his office specifically for this purpose, had been expecting it, but that didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable. 

 

“Minister.  We are dealing with it.  We are running three separate surveillance operations  _ as we speak _ to identify the culprit so that he can be arrested.  I have my best team on standby for the moment that he is located.”

 

Minister Von Holck was infuriated.  Une knew she had been pushing her luck, quietly ignoring the growing awareness of the assassin in favor of allowing him to deal with problems she couldn’t see to.  Today, it seemed, her luck had run out.

 

“Director.  Let me make this perfectly clear.  I want this person dealt with  _ permanently. _  There will be no arrest record.  There will be no newspaper coverage.  I will not allow vigilantism to undermine pacifism, and I will not allow him to become a martyr to the cause.  Make him disappear, or I’ll find someone else who can manage the task.”

 

*

 

Duo woke, abruptly, the shuffling outside his door instantaneously cutting through the fog of sleep.  Rolling off the edge of the bed, weapon in hand, he crept to the front of the apartment on silent feet. Exhaling noiselessly, he flung the door open, weapon up and ready, only to have his hand immobilized and the gun forced down and sideways by a strong, capable grip.

 

His brain caught up a half second later, aborting his automatic defensive maneuver as soon as he recognized Wufei, allowing himself to be backed into the apartment and against the wall, hands pinned to his sides, as the door swung shut behind them.

 

The whole event had taken less than five seconds.

 

Adrenaline speeding his heart and respirations, he panted in the darkness as his eyes adjusted and he found himself staring into dark eyes, their bodies pressed together from knee to chest.  The grip on his gun hand was released, the hand sliding up to his bicep, as Wufei interpreted the recognition in his expression, and he flicked the safety back on, depositing the gun on the table only a few inches away.

 

As the danger meter in the room decreased from DEFCON 3, he was suddenly, viscerally aware of all the hard muscle pressed up against him. 

 

And now he was panting for entirely different reasons.

 

Wufei’s eyes flicked down his body and back up, gaze heated, apparently becoming aware of their position at the same moment.  And it seemed he’d just realized Duo’s near-naked state, having gone to bed in only a pair of shorts.  Duo grinned, the dangerous wave of endorphins he’d been riding giving it a sharp edge.  “Shouldn’t you have a chaperone, visitin’ my quarters this late?  I might steal your virtue.”

 

Wufei’s lips quirked, and he leaned a little closer.  “Maybe I’m here to steal yours.”  Tilting his head, he pressed their mouths together, all heat and confidence, and Duo groaned, rolling his body into the contact, straining against the hands still holding his arms.  A flicker of tongue and he was opening his mouth, accepting the invasion, exploring the other mouth in turn. 

 

Long minutes later, the Chinese man broke away, breathing heavily.  “Stop. Stop.”  He paused, gulping air.  “This isn’t what I came here for.”  

 

Duo laughed, sharply.  “You’re the one creepin’ into my apartment in the middle of the night man.  And you seem pretty interested in  _ coming _ .”  He pressed forward, against the proof of interest he found there.  Wufei made an abrupt, choked off sound.

 

The Chinese man leaned in again, this time for a shorter kiss that ended in a sharp nip.  “I came to get you for an op.  We’ve got a lead on Deadshot.”  He let go of Duo’s arms, finally, stepping back, nearly out of his personal space.  Duo followed him, hand wrapping around the back of his neck to yank him in for another kiss, this one flavored with the anticipation of a fight, teeth and tongues and aggression banked by lust.  

 

“Yeah?  Well let’s go get the bastard, so you can get back to showing me what you came here for.”

 

*

 

The team assembled in one of the briefing rooms, in various states of dress, it being the middle of the night, sans weapons.  Those would be chosen from the armory once a mission plan was in place.  Sally had a projector set up, waiting impatiently for them to settle into seats.

 

“Ok.  Two hours ago surveillance team Bravo reported that they had identified what they believed to be the same man in multiple locations watching this target.”  A photograph came up on the screen, showing the second target Vinny had identified as a possible Deadshot mark. Angus Bannister.  He was tall, skinny, with ginger hair and large teeth.  If they hadn’t had the intelligence information to prove his involvement, Duo would never have figured him for a member of a criminal organization, much less in the upper echelons.

 

The slide changed, revealing the back and side of a man in a ball cap and jacket, face turned away from the camera.  “The team has been unable to get a clear look at him, but this is the man they believe to be following Bannister.  He’s about 5’9”, approximately 70 kilos, dark hair.  Frequently wearing a cap.  Nondescript in almost every way except he’s been sighted in the vicinity of Bannister on multiple occasions over the last few days.”  Several more photos cycled through, none of them any better of an angle.  Not one time was there even the inkling of the man’s face, but there was an impression of decisive motion, barely contained energy.

 

The slide changed again, a large building dominating the screen with, presumably, the same man entering the lobby, guitar case slung across his back.  “This is Hotel Bloom.  The suspect entered the lobby two hours ago and has not exited as far as we can tell.  This is significant because across from the hotel is Botanique, where a concert is taking place tonight, which Bannister is expected to attend.  If the suspect is the assassin we’re looking for, this is the most likely avenue for him to strike.  The roof of the building provides a direct line of sight to the concert venue.”

 

The projector shut off, lights in the room cycling back up to normal.  “OK, thoughts, suggestions, let’s hear ‘em.  We’re on a limited time frame, the concert starts at twenty-hundred hours.  That gives us just over 16 hours to put together an entire operation.”

 

“How sure are we that he’s going to fire into a crowd?  Deadshot’s typical MO  _ is _ sniping, but we have several kills we believe can be attributed to him using other methods.”  Vinny was flipping through files as he asked, pulling out the ones that were considered Deadshot hits not involving firearms.  

 

“We’re not.” Sally answered.

 

“Ok, then I suggest we put at least a two man team in the crowd, eyes on Bannister.” She nodded, making a note.

 

“Put a drone on the roof.  Rest of the team on the ground.  That gives us flexibility.”  Hektor grunted, studying the lineup from the roof to the concert.  “He’s never had an unintended casualty,” he sounded grudgingly impressed, “so if he wants to take a shot, he’s going to wait for a moment where there’s less risk of collateral damage.  Where is Bannister going to be?”

 

“We don’t know.  It’s open seating, but there is a VIP section.”

 

“Can we get  _ into _ the VIP section?  I’m bettin’ it’s too late to get tickets for that,” Duo remarked, studying one of the photos of their possible assassin.  It was a bare profile, and he couldn’t shake the feeling he should know who it was.

 

Sally grimaced in response.  “We could use our pull as Preventers but I think that would work against us.  You’re correct in assuming there are no tickets left.  We can get lawn seats at the gate.”

 

Duo cut his eyes at Wufei, a moment of nonverbal communication between them, before he went back to the map of Botanique that had been provided.  He pointed at a spot on the side closest to the street.  “If we set up a team here, they can see the entire venue, including the VIP section.  There’s no quick exit, but the visibility is good.”  

 

Hilde came over to glance over his shoulder, nodding approvingly.  “Two in the concert, two outside the hotel, and a getaway driver.  I like it.”  She grinned, game face on.  “Who’s the sucker stuck in the van?”

 

In the end, Vinny ended up with the honor, because he was the only one qualified to pilot the drone.  Duo and Hilde ended up on venue duty because, in Hilde’s words, “We’re the only ones who can fake a date as part of mission parameters.”  Wufei had rolled his eyes but conceded the point, leaving himself and Hektor outside the hotel, lurking.

 

The plan had necessitated they deviate from their normal mission habits as well.  Duo and Hilde were in civilian attire and minimally armed as a result.  Jeans, boots and light jackets did not provide a lot of opportunity for packing an arsenal, though Duo’d still managed both his standard issue and backup sidearms, in back and ankle holsters respectively, knives strapped to each forearm, and a fiendish retractable garrote in his pocket.  

 

Hilde was similarly armed, and their partnership worked out as he was left handed to her right, allowing them to appear ‘couple-y’ without hindering their response times.

 

Wufei and Hektor were skulking around the hotel trying to appear unobtrusive.  Deprived of their usual tactical attire, they were dressed in muted greys, blending into shadows, only slightly more well-armed than their team members.  Neither of them was carrying the MP7s the team favored, though Wufei had pocketed at military-grade taser from G’s stash.   

 

Duo and Hilde meandered around the concert venue, sticking close to their chosen vantage point, joking and laughing, and appearing for all the world like two people having a great time on a date, except that they never held hands except to loosely link their fingers together, and they were never all that close in proximity to one another.  And their eyes were always scanning the crowd.

 

Vinny hovered the drone high above the hotel roof, hopefully preventing any sound of it from drifting downward.  It was a very quiet drone, but you never knew.  He set it up for motion and thermal images, then hunkered down in the back of the van to wait, monitoring the comms. 

 

*

 

Wufei leaned against the wall on the east side of the hotel, half in the shadows, watching passerby.  No one approached him, possibly because he gave off a violent air of ‘bother me and I’ll feed you your fingers’.  People generally gave him a wide berth, carefully not meeting his eyes.  Vinny snickered into the comms.  “Chimera, they think you’re a gang member.  Tone down the homicidal maniac dial a bit.”  Disgruntled, he slipped farther into the shadows, attracting less attention.

 

Hektor, impressively, transformed into one of the local homeless population, cap pulled low over his ears, paper bag wrapped bottle at his feet, sitting listlessly in a doorway.

 

And then they waited.

 

Halfway through the concert Vinny’s voice crackled over the comms.  “I have movement on the roof.”

 

Wufei responded. “ _ Diablo _ and Spectre hold position. Atlas with me. We will move to intercept.”

 

Receiving confirmations from the rest of the team, one of which sounded disgruntled, Wufei made his way to the roof access door of the hotel, forcing the lock. Hektor appeared beside him silently, holding a meter long metal cylinder. Wufei eyed it with distaste. 

 

“You brought the sticky foam?” He asked, his disbelief evident. 

 

The taller agent shrugged. “Why not? They said alive, as long as I don't spray him in the face it should be fine. What was your plan?”

 

Wufei revealed a small metal case. “Tranq dart.”

 

Hektor nodded. “I spray, you stick, we get him in the van faster that way.”

 

Wufei nodded. The idea had merit. He opened the access door, gun at the ready. He motioned Hektor to follow, slipping to the right, the taller man going left. The door shut silently behind them. 

 

“Falcon do you have eyes on the target?”

 

“Ah… sort of?”

 

Wufei frowned. “Report.”  They melted into the shadows of the stairwell, waiting. 

 

“Something is definitely there. But they're wearing some kind of… disruptive clothing? I'm not sure. I can't get a clear read. Nothing on visual but the motion sensor are picking up some movement and the heat sensors get the occasional flare up. I think he's setting up for a shot.”

 

That meant they didn't have much time. Cursing under his breath, he moved back to the bottom of the stairs. “Copy. Keep eyes on as much as possible. Moving up the stairwell.”

 

“Wilco.”

 

He and Hektor made their way to the roof quickly, leap frogging each other up the successive landings. At the door to the roof they encountered an open guitar case. Wufei studied it briefly, noting the false bottom. 

 

_ Clever _ . 

 

Making the signs for low and silent to Hektor, he disabled the light at the landing, plunging them into blackness. Waiting a few minutes for his eyes to adjust, he pushed the outer door slowly, alert for any sounds it made. Hearing nothing he slipped through, going left, sensing Hektor behind him moving right. 

 

He swept the roof with his weapon, grateful for the dark in the stairwell. Unable to bring their usual equipment he had to rely on his natural night vision, and the pitch black of the stairwell had helped. He was just able to pick out a prone body on the far ledge, outline of a rifle visible.  

 

Motioning to Hektor, they circled around opposite sides, silently, careful to stay out of the assassin’s peripherals, until Hektor was within range. At Wufei’s signal, he lifted the cylinder, pointing it the target’s hips, and deployed the foam. 

 

Within seconds he was covered in a coat of rapidly-expanding film from chest to feet, arm that had been on the rifle the only one still free. There was an arrested motion as he tried to roll over defensively, then movement was completely restricted. Wufei darted in, wrenching the unimpeded wrist, and jabbed the dart deep into the deltoid, dancing back out of reach, taking the rifle with him. 

 

There was another minute of fruitless struggling before the figure went limp. Wufei clicked the comms. “Target acquired.”

 

He frowned.  It was strange that the assassin had never made a sound.

 

*

 

Duo strolled through the door to the roof casually, hands in his pockets, Hilde trailing behind him. He glanced over their prize curiously. 

 

“How're you plannin’ to get this shit offa him?” he asked, toeing at the hardened foam. 

 

Hektor shrugged, looking abashed. “I didn't think that far ahead.”

 

Duo chuckled, taking in Wufei's sour expression. “How long’s the dart good for?”

 

“Four hours, assuming normal metabolism.”

 

“That's a big assumption. The foam dissolves in water right?” Duo asked, glancing around. 

 

_ Ah-ha. _

 

There was a spigot and a bucket at the corner of the outcropping that housed the roof landing and door. Loping over he picked it up, checking it out. It was dirty but it'd do. He gave it a quick rinse and filled it up, carrying it back over to the imprisoned assassin, dumping it over his feet. 

 

The foam dissolved into lumpy-looking sludge. “Gross,” he muttered, taking a step back. 

 

Shrugging, he went back for another bucket. 

 

It took five buckets of water to free the target from his foam prison, and then they had to cart him, slimy and damp, down four flights of stairs, limp arms slung over his and Hektor’s shoulders, they being the closest in height.  Wufei had grabbed the rifle, storing it in the modified guitar case, Hilde covering their rear, not that they expected to run into any trouble.

 

Vinny pulled the van around to the alley near the door, and they’d all clambered in, securing their package with zip ties.  Duo reached down, snagging the optic scope the assassin was wearing with a muttered “Nifty!” before tugging the mask off his head.

 

“Aw you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!”

 

Wufei groaned from the other side of the van.

 

Everyone else just looked confused.

 

*

 

Duo was flaming pissed.  Not quite literally, but it was a close thing.  Probably it was good he’d been doing all that extra work with Wufei.

 

He’d made sure Heero was stripped down to his skivvies - the same damn getup of biker shorts and a tank top from the war, Duo noticed, grumbling under his breath the entire time - and tossed into a containment cell on the lab level of the compound. They’d left him on a cot, at least, but the room was bare walls and only slits of ventilation. Before he’d shut the door he’d made it a point to rip out the electronic panel on the interior side and fuse the wires, ensuring pilot 01 couldn’t use it to make an escape.  He’d then stomped off to the CQC gym, muttering obscenities.

 

The team had watched him go, wide-eyed, except Wufei, who looked exasperated with both Duo and the mysterious prisoner.

 

Wufei found him in the gym, half an hour later, beating a kickboxing bag into submission, still muttering under his breath.  

 

“What’n the fuck he thought he was playin’ at, runnin’ around shootin’ people like it wasn’t nothin’ and nobody was gonna notice.”

 

“Duo.”  The braided man spun, chest heaving.  

 

“Yeah?  What?”  He looked mutinous, chin jutted out, itching for a fight.

 

Wufei stepped cautiously into his personal space, taking his wrist lightly.  Duo felt the calmness he associated with the Chinese man at the touch.  Shaking his hand off, he took a step back.  He wasn’t in the mood to be calm.

 

The other man dropped his hand, looking briefly disappointed.  

 

Duo ground his teeth, refusing to apologize.

 

Wufei eyed him consideringly, before quirking a small grin.  “I thought we had a date, once we got back?”

 

The abrupt reminder of what they’d been doing before the mission brief hit Duo like a punch to the solar plexus, the heat of his anger dissipating under the flush of arousal.  He snorted, dropping his arms to his sides, breathing still ragged, though not entirely from the exercise. 

 

He opened his mouth to respond when he was interrupted by the chime of his cellphone.  Brow furrowed, he pulled it out of his pocket where he’d stuffed it, forgotten, when they’d dragged Heero out of the van on arrival.  Looking at the number, it was one he didn’t recognize, but the lateness of the hour made him hesitate to hit ignore.  Shrugging, he accepted the call, meeting Wufei’s eyes as he raised it to his ear.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello, sorry, is this Duo Maxwell?”  the low, female voice on the other end pronounced his name uncertainly, like she wasn’t sure who she was looking for.

 

“Who’s askin’?”

 

“Oh, yes, sorry!  This is Alina Alam, Mr. Lowe provided me with your contact information in the event that he… well, that something happened to him.  I received an automated message from him instructing me to call earlier this evening, but I’ve just now seen it.”

 

“Mr.  _ who _ ?”

 

“Lowe.  Heero Lowe.”  She sounded nervous, but determined.

 

Duo paused.  He nodded at Wufei, who moved closer.  “Heero  _ Lowe _ ,” he repeated. “Short, dark hair, bad attitude, spends a lot of time with computers?”

 

“Yes, that’s him, though I wouldn’t say he has a  _ bad _ attitude, only that he prefers his privacy.”  She sounded relieved, now, babbling a bit.

 

“And you were told to call  _ me _ if something happened to him?”

 

“Well, yes.  Actually, he left a list of people to call, and you’re the first.  I was told not to call the police, but if you’d prefer-”

 

“Nope, no need to do that.  Who else is on the list?” he asked, curiously.  Wufei was googling ‘Heero Lowe’ on his phone browser, eyebrows raised in surprise.  He held the phone out for Duo to see, Lowe Security’s website pulled up.  Duo snorted, quietly, corner of his lip curled.

 

“Ah, I have four others.  I’m being paid for my discretion, however, so I’d rather not say who they are.”

 

Duo laughed.  “Well you can leave off calling Wufei Chang, he’s here with me.  You can try Trowa and Quatre, but they’re off planet at the moment.  Did I just about manage to get all four names?”

 

“Well, ah-” she fumbled a bit, and Duo laughed again.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Alam.  We’ll take care of Heero.  You just go on doing whatever it is that you do.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Maxwell.  I hope Mr. Lowe is alright.”

 

“Trust me,” Duo said, dryly, “he’s fine.”

 

He hung up the phone, turning to Wufei, aggravation back on his face.  “Bastard set us up to be his  _ backup _ if something happened to him.”

 

Duo didn’t know how to feel about that.  On the one hand, it was irritating that he’d assumed so much.  On the other, it said a lot about how he felt about the other pilots, the level of trust he’d had in them.

 

He groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face.  It was gonna be a long night.

 

*

 

Heero woke up near instantaneously, careful to keep his breathing and heart rate steady, his eyes closed, as he tried to figure out where he was.

 

Lying on something marginally more comfortable than the floor.  His suit and weapons were gone.  Wherever he was at was nearly silent, only the hiss of air ventilating in the climate controlled room.  He caught the near-imperceptible sound of someone shifting minutely-

 

“I know you’re awake, Heero.”

 

His eyes shot open, head turning to the sound of the voice.  

 

On the other side of the room, like it was AC 195 and four years hadn’t passed since he’d last laid eyes on him, Duo sat slouched in the corner, elbow resting on his knee, watching him.

 

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up.  He vaguely remembered setting up for a target, and then… Wufei? He shook his head.  That didn’t make any sense.

 

“Well, pal,”  Duo was watching him, strangely agitated, “ _ apparently _ you’ve been running around murdering criminals, willy-nilly, and you’ve finally managed to  _ attract the wrong attention _ .”

 

Heero blinked at him.  “Where are we?”

 

“Oh you’re a guest of the Preventers at the moment Heero, haven’t you guessed?  And I’ve just spent the last hour convincing Une that, instead of shipping you off to some goddamn middle-of-nowhere prison cell, you’d be more useful on the team,  _ partner _ .”  He was seething, Heero could see, though he couldn’t figure out why.

 

“The Preventers?” he spat, disdainfully.  “And they’ve been  _ very _ effective, haven’t they?  The Preventers couldn’t organize a pissup in a brewery.”

 

“Caught you though, didn’t we?”  A lazy smile slid across his face, edged with a bitterness Heero still didn’t understand.  

 

Heero stood, “I’m leaving.” 

 

Duo didn’t move, sprawled out on the floor.  “Good luck with that.  I’ve fucked the door lock from this side.”

 

“Open the door, Duo.”

 

“You didn't say please.”

 

Heero could feel his temper rising, along with a headache.  He’d forgotten what it was like to spend more than five minutes in Duo’s company.  “Open the door,” he growled, stomping over to loom over the other pilot.

 

Duo pulled himself up off the ground, moving away from the wall, his back to the door, to look down at Heero from his superior height.  “Can’t.  It’s fucked, I told you.  Can only be opened from the outside.”

 

“Open. The. Fucking. Door. Maxwell.”  He was leaning into Duo’s personal space now, fists curled, and Duo was leaning towards him, jaw clenched, radiating anger, and Heero was sweating, which made no sense at all because the room was climate controlled.

 

The door swung swiftly open and closed almost immediately, too quickly for Heero to react, and a tanned hand landed on Duo’s shoulder, tugging him back imperceptibly.  Duo seemed to deflate under the contact, retreating back a few inches, blowing out a breath of frustration.  Heero turned his head to look at Wufei.

 

_ Ah.  He  _ **_had_ ** _ been on the roof _ .

 

This was all starting to make a lot more sense.

 

He threw himself down on the cot with an explosive sigh, staring at the other two pilots, who were having some kind of silent communication, Wufei’s hand still on the braided pilot’s shoulder.  

 

“So the Preventers figured out who I am?” he asked, acerbically, not really interested in the answer.

 

“Shyeah, it was easy, once we had you in the back of the van.”  Duo muttered.  

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.  “Duo.”

 

“Whatever.  I’m out of here.”  The door opened just as he reached it, proving someone was on the other side, listening, and slammed closed behind him, probably his own doing.

 

Heero turned to Wufei, ready to argue his point, frustration bubbling to the surface.

 

“Une’s been given a specific directive to eliminate you.”  The Chinese pilot spoke first, bluntly.  “Duo spent more than an hour in her office convincing her that you’d be an asset to the organization.  She agreed to offer you the same… accommodations she’s provided us.  Anonymity.  Housing.  No connection to your past.”

 

Heero looked at him expectantly, not offering any indication of his thoughts, one way or the other.

 

Wufei shook his head in aggravation.  “This is a black ops squad, Yuy, it’s off the books.  You can be a sanctioned hitman for the Preventers, working with my team, or you can break yourself out of a Siberian prison cell.  Take your pick.”

 

He stormed out of the cell, the door locking electronically behind him.

 

Heero leaned back onto the cot, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought.

 

*

 

“I want to pick my own targets.”

 

“Sit down, peanut gallery, we’ll get to you.”  Duo didn’t even look up at Heero as he sifted through the files Sally had dumped on them this morning.  

 

It’d been almost two weeks since Heero had agreed to work with the team, though ‘with’ was a strong word for ‘begrudging cooperation’ and ‘chip on his shoulder the size of an asteroid’.

 

“I've got intel and-”

 

Duo drew in a deep breath. “If you've got information you wanna share with the class, fine, we’ll add it to the collective pile and use it to make  _ team _ decisions. You're not running a solo operation here.”

 

The other man glowered at him. 

 

“And call your girlfriend. She callin’ me and Wufei askin’ about you.”

 

The next morning Heero showed up to the daily briefing with his laptop and a stack of paperwork.

 

“Where’d you get all that then?” Duo asked, eyeing the laptop dubiously.

 

“I called my  _ secretary _ and had her overnight my essentials.  If I’m going to be stuck here, I’m not going to be hindered by your inadequate information.”

 

Duo rolled his eyes and Vinny looked affronted, but by the time Heero was done laying out his information and detailing the connections he was following, they were all impressed.  Combining it with the Preventers’ intelligence filled a lot of holes.

 

And it made something else glaringly obvious.

 

“You’ve got something big happening here in Brussels, but I haven’t been able to identify the key players.  I suspect it’s someone in the new government,” he snorted, wryly, “which I assume is how I ended up on your radar.  Obviously, I’m on the right track.”

 

*

 

The mission had been relatively straightforward, a two man job, infiltrate and destroy a weapons manufacturing center. Duo’d kind of enjoyed it, if he were being honest.  Stealth and subterfuge to get in, all flash and bang on the way out.  His favorite kind.  Now he was buzzing with adrenaline and the endorphin high of a job well done, and judging by the smirk and self-satisfaction on Wufei’s face, he was feeling fairly similar.

 

They even got back early.  Nearly a day early, in fact, and Duo had persuaded Wufei to, well, not sneak exactly, but certainly not announce their presence when they returned, pointing out that ever since Heero’d arrived they hadn’t really had any time to make good on their date.

 

It had been surprisingly easy to convince him.  

 

They ended up in Duo’s apartment by virtue of the fact that it was closer to the elevator, and the door wasn’t even totally shut behind them before they were all over each other, hands grasping, mouths battling for dominance.  There was a brief pause as they divested themselves of weapons, Duo joking breathlessly about keeping all their important bits intact, and then they were entangled, stumbling towards the bedroom, a lamp sacrificed for the sake of forward progress.

 

Duo stripped off his shirt, reaching for Wufei’s, yanking it over the other man’s head, throwing it to the side.  He crowded back in for hot, biting kisses, rocking their hips together, his hands exploring firm muscles and scarred skin.  His mind catalogued the different textures, a knife wound here, a gunshot there.  Something that felt like a burn on his hip, the skin whorled under his fingers.  Wufei’s hands were similarly occupied, nails dragging down his back, hands grasping his hips, their tongues tangled and teeth clashing, both of them panting. 

 

Reaching for the snap on his pants, Duo quickly divested Wufei of the tactical trousers, sliding them over trim hips, briefs following behind to fall in a tangle on the floor.  Wufei stumbled over them, falling backwards onto the bed, landing with an explosion of breath, and leaned back to brace himself on his hands.  Duo shoved his own pants off as he followed, pressing him back into the mattress, grinding their erections together roughly, moaning at the contact.

 

Sliding his hands up muscled arms, Duo pinned Wufei’s hands to the bed, mouth traveling along his jaw, down his neck, pausing to suck firmly along his collarbone, leaving a red, raised mark in his wake, Wufei groaning.  He felt resistance from the other man as he tried to flip them, turn the tables, but he persisted, mouth latching onto a nipple, biting down and laving it with his tongue.  

 

Wufei shifted, one foot coming to rest on the bed, opening his legs more to Duo’s pelvis, changing the angle of the contact, and Duo hissed, head lifting to look down at their erections, flushed and weeping, pressed together, and groaned.  Wufei used the momentary distraction to leverage them over, grinning down at Duo as he was pinned down roughly.

 

“My turn,” he panted, eyes hooded, mouth swollen from rough kisses.  Duo’s brain short-circuited, hot lust overwhelming his normal thought processes.  Wufei leaned down, holding Duo’s wrists immobile at his sides, and ran his tongue along a line of ink on his ribs.  “What does this mean?”

 

Duo struggled to think.  “Uh, it’s- ah!”  Sharp teeth nipped along his hipbone. “It’s Latin, it means, uh, ‘Remember to die’.”

 

Wufei’s tongue traced other tattoos, ones that most people never saw, images of flames, a line of dates, a cross with names engraved on it.  Duo’s breathing was ragged, his mind warring between arousal and awareness, trying to remember what else was commemorated on his skin, and then Wufei’s mouth was on his cock, dragging slowly up and down, sucking intently, and he couldn’t remember his own name anymore-

 

“Fuck me!” he groaned, arms straining against the restraining hands, hips jerking, as Wufei swirled his tongue around the head of his erection. 

 

Wufei released him with an audible pop, breath blowing in cool streams over his overheated erection as he responded. “Is that an official request?”

 

Duo lifted his head to look at the other man, mouth hovering above his groin, lips slick with saliva, hair falling around his face. His breathing hitched, cock twitching at the sight. “You waitin’ on a formal invitation or somethin’?”

 

Grinning fiercely, the other man dipped his head, swiping a hot, wet trail with his tongue, from base to tip. Duo shuddered in response. “Lube? Condoms?”

 

Duo jerked his chin towards the nightstand. “Top drawer.”

 

His head fell back to the mattress, hard, as Wufei swallowed his erection again. He didn't even notice when his wrists were released, but he noticed the hand trailing along his balls, between his cheeks. Groaning, he buried his now free hands in silky hair and planted his feet on the bed, anticipating the contact he knew was coming.

 

He wasn’t disappointed.

 

“Fuck!’   His breath exploded out, a finger circling his entrance and pressing in, the accompanying burn just enhancing the rest of the overwhelming sensations, Wufei’s mouth sliding up and down his cock, another hand on his balls, massaging the sensitive place just behind them, and that finger pressing in and out so deliciously.

 

He was fisting Wufei’s hair now, alternatively arching up into his mouth and pressing back against that questing digit, biting his lip, tossing his head against the mattress.  Another finger slid in beside the first, exploring, then brushing up against the knot of sensation inside him and he gasped, breathless, lightening licking up his spine, on the edge of the precipice. 

 

Scrambling for a hold, he tugged Wufei up by the shoulders, dragging him to eye level, pulling his face down for a sloppy kiss as he arched into his touch.

 

The fingers scissored apart, the stretch and pressure almost setting him off. 

 

Breaking off, he panted, “It's enough, holy shit, just fuck me!”

 

Wufei darted in for a hard, fast kiss, teeth nipping his lower lip, and Duo could feel his hand moving, fingers sliding out, then swiping himself with lube, and  _ finally _ the hot, broad head of Wufei’s cock was pressing against him, and he had a momentary thought that he hadn't gotten to  _ see it _ , which was a disappointment, and then it was pushing past resistance and it burned  _ so fucking good _ -

 

Then Wufei was sliding deep, impossibly deep, and Duo arched up, taking him as far as he would go, moaning and finally he was all the way in, balls pressing against him and they both paused, gulping down air, staring at each other in the low light. 

 

Wufei had never looked so goddamn sexy, his jaw clenched, muscles straining while he held himself still, eyes dark and heated with lust, fingers clenching the blankets they hadn't even bothered to turn back. 

 

He waited, immobile, while Duo adjusted, the overwhelming sense of fullness mellowing into something else, something hot and dark, and Duo shifted, reaching down to give himself a squeeze, involuntarily lifting his hips in response. 

 

Wufei made a sound, low in his throat, eyes screwing shut. 

 

“You look so fuckin’ hot,” Duo murmured, giving himself another stroke, other hand reaching up to brush the hair out of Wufei's face. His eyes opened, taking in the sight of Duo underneath him, fondling himself, and his lips quirked. He shifted his hips, pulling back minutely, pushing forward again as Duo gasped. 

 

“The view’s not bad from here, either,” he ground out, movements getting firmer, more forceful. Duo moaned, hands reaching for the man above him. Wufei dipped forward again, indulging in a languid kiss, and then he was sitting up, on his knees, hands pulling Duo’s hips into position, thrusting in long, snapping thrusts. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, cheeks flushed with arousal. 

 

“So bossy,” Duo commented, breathless, reaching for his dick with his left hand, right falling from Wufei's shoulder to lie over his head. 

 

Wufei pulled Duo’s knees over his elbows, lifting him slightly, and suddenly he was seeing stars with every push forward, gasping and writhing on the bed, hand working furiously at his arousal. 

 

“Fei! Fuck! I-  **ohmygod** , right there, fuckfuckfuck I'm so close-” he choked out, trying to push back, seeking more contact, hand buried in his own hair, pulling, eyes clenched shut, grip tightening around his cock. He had no leverage, was completely at the other man’s mercy...

 

“Come for me,” another order, and Duo couldn't help but obey, orgasm rushing over him like a freight train, Wufei’s hips pistoning, his own hand squeezing, sparks flashing behind his eyelids,  and he was coming, and coming, and  _ coming _ , and Wufei groaned his name and he was coming too and his brain took a short, pleasurable vacation, Wufei's weight collapsing on his chest, grounding him. 

 

“Jesus fuck!” he wheezed, jolts of electricity still shooting up his spine. 

 

“That's not my name. I assumed you'd know it after all that,” came the breathless murmur against his neck, followed by the press of teeth and an apologetic kiss.

 

Duo groaned, then huffed out a laugh, legs wrapped around the other man’s waist, still trying to catch his breath. “I might need a few more demonstrations.”

 

He felt the vibration of chuckles in reaction. “Give me ten minutes, I'll see what I can come up with.”

 

 

*

 

His fridge and cupboards were bare.  Not that Duo kept a lot of food in the apartment generally speaking, but between the recent mission and babysitting their wayward teammate, he’d not had the time or inclination to stock up. So now, hours after they’d gotten back from their mission, they were both practically starving.

 

Probably their recent  _ exertion _ had contributed to the problem.

 

When Wufei had complained that his kitchen was in a similar state, Duo’d headed to the cafeteria in search of food.  He was on his way back with simple sandwiches and bottles of water when he noticed that one of the containment cells was locked.  The same one Heero had enjoyed, in fact.  Curious, he keyed up the monitoring systems to see what was inside.

 

_ What the fuck?! _

 

*

 

He and Wufei were waiting at the cell when Une arrived.  Neither of their access codes would open the door, and Duo was  _ this close _ to hot wiring the damn thing when she walked up.

 

“You wanna tell me what in the fuck you’ve got him locked up in there for?” He snarled in greeting. “And why I can’t  _ unlock _ it?”

 

She gave a long suffering sigh.  “Maxwell…”

 

“Don’t give me that ‘Maxwell’ bullshit like you didn’t know how we were gonna react to this!  What in the fuck is goin’ on around here?”

 

She sighed again, this time in resignation.  “The L3 police force called us while you were gone, reporting that they had a suspected associate of the criminal element they call ‘The Joker’ in custody, but that they had been unsuccessful in interrogating him, and asked for our assistance.  He was delivered to us yesterday, and I was just as surprised as you to see him.”  She paused, considering her words.  “I tried to talk to him after his arrival but… either my intelligence reports from the war were  _ very _ wrong, or that’s not Quatre Winner.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU to ChronicWhimsy for the excellent beta, as always. And for helping me with henchman names. She’s rather good at that!
> 
> Also, I appreciate the person who pointed out I had the DEFCON warning system backwards (1 is the highest, not 5) so I picked a nice safe number in the middle ;)
> 
> Hotel Bloom and Botanique are both real, but I may have flubbed up their exact locations a bit – I’m working from maps. Botanique really does host outdoor concerts and Bloom really is the closest hotel to the venue. I’ve no idea if there is a VIP section or whatever, that’s for my convenience. From what I can tell, all this should work just the way I wrote it.
> 
> I headcanon Duo as left handed or ambidextrous. I dunno, it’s just A Thing.
> 
> I also headcanon Wufei as absolutely terrible at undercover work. Just unable to relax and blend enough for it. Thus, this scene in the alley.
> 
> OK STICKY FOAM. So. I’ve obviously modified current sticky foam to suit my purposes. It’s currently used as a form of crowd control and it takes a little longer than 60 seconds to immobilize a person, but clearly Dr. G has improved this sticky foam considerably, ok? Tranq darts – same. In real life, they’re tricky and dangerous because you don’t know the exact dose a person may or may not need based on body size and metabolism, so again, this is a convenient plot device for me. In real life, they’d have to physically subdue a target, but I really wanted Heero’s identity to be a surprise to Wufei and Duo, so here we are.
> 
> Alina Alam is my own personal creation and I LOVE HER SO HARD. She’s going to make at least one more appearance here, I promise. She’s seriously the best. Heero doesn’t deserve her (as a secretary, don’t get alarmed.) He’s even picked up some of her mannerisms, as you can see.
> 
> QUATRE ARRIVES DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNN


	9. Getting the Band Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calvary arrives.

_You like me best when I’m off my rocker,_

_Tell you a secret, I’m not alarmed_

_So what if I’m crazy? The best people are_

_All the best people are crazy, all the best people are_

 

Mad Hatter - Melanie Martinez

* * *

 

 

“Let him out,” Duo growled, incensed.

 

“That is… not advisable.  He disabled several guards during his transport.” Une replied, looking uncomfortable.

 

“Duo,” Wufei murmured, fingers brushing against his arm.

 

Blowing out a breath, he offered a compromise.  “Let me in.  I wanna talk to him.”

 

Une pursed her lips, looking on the verge of refusing.  Duo was about to explode with frustration and impatience.  “Look, how long do you really think you can keep me out of there or him in there?  Let me in the fucking room!”

 

Wufei wrapped a hand around his wrist, again offering the steadying touch he needed.  

 

This wasn’t really how he’d pictured this night ending.

 

“Fine.”  Une conceded, leaning over to briskly key in an entry code.  Not briskly enough, though, Duo watching through narrowed eyes.  They wouldn’t be able to keep him out, regardless, but it’d be much easier to work with the password.

 

The locks disengaged and Duo slipped inside the door, shutting it quietly behind him.  Quatre, or at least, he _looked_ like Quatre, was watching him lazily from where he was sitting in the corner, wrists shackled, wearing a tank top and cotton pants.  He had a small smirk on his face, and he put Duo in mind of a spider waiting on a fly.

 

Duo was beginning to understand what Une was getting at.  

 

He hadn’t lived this long by being incautious.  He strolled into the room, hands clearly visible, held loosely at his side, furiously projecting ‘non threatening’ with his body language.  

 

The smirk on the other boy’s face widened, fractionally.  “Hello Duo.  Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Well.  He looked like Quatre.  He sounded like Quatre, mostly, the intervening years deepening his voice somewhat, and Duo thought he’d probably gained a few inches as well, though it was hard to tell from his slouch on the floor.  He obviously recognized his old teammate, which was definitive evidence as far as Duo was concerned.  Only the real Quatre would have recognized him.

 

It was the rest of it that was all wrong.  The Quatre he remembered wouldn’t have been caught dead half dressed, or slouching, or even sitting on the floor obstinately, especially not in the presence of someone he’d considered a friend.  But mostly it was the look in his eyes, like he was having a joke at everyone else’s expense, and enjoying watching them struggle.  Very calculating, which was nothing new, but darkly amused, which was not a side of Quatre he was familiar with.

 

Still, it had been nearly 5 years since he’d laid eyes on the man.

 

Duo sat down on the ground, carefully out of reach, leaning back on his hands, the least threatening position he could think of that still left him open to defend himself.  Quatre’s eyes trailed him from head to toe, his amusement visibly growing.

 

“It looks as though I’ve interrupted something… interesting.  So sorry to be an inconvenience.”

 

Duo blinked at him, surprised, then laughed, thinking of his mussed hair and loose sweats.  “I was out for a midnight snack anyway.  Sorry I didn’t come see you sooner, didn’t know you were here, man.”  Duo looked at him, evaluating.   “If I let you outta those cuffs, are you gonna behave yourself?  I heard you got a lil’ frisky on the way here.  These are good people here, they’re just doin’ the L3 police a favor.”  There was an aborted noise over the room speakers, but Duo ignored it.  Wufei would handle whatever was happening out there.

 

Blue eyes trailed over him again, considering, before Quatre lifted one shoulder, shrugging.  “I can, for you.  If you _want_ me to behave.”

 

Duo ignored the innuendo.  Definitely not the Quatre he was used to.  “You can, yeah, I’m sure, but _will_ you?”

 

Quatre smiled, fully, this time.  He obviously enjoyed the banter with someone who didn’t miss his little tricks.  “Alright then, Duo, for you, I promise to be on my good behavior.”

 

“Wufei’s here too.”

 

“Ah.  That explains _so_ much.  Yes, for him too, then.  I can be very, _very_ good, if you say please.” The last was a sensual purr.  “At least until the cavalry arrives.”

 

Duo shook his head.  He assumed the cavalry was Trowa, but he didn’t take the bait.  Scooting closer he reached into his hair for an ever-present pick, deftly unlocking the manacles, taking them with him when he scooted back to his previous spot.  Though he didn’t resume the lazy lean he’d adopted, instead sitting forward, cross-legged, arms resting loosely on his knees.  Quatre rubbed absently at his wrists, then stretched expansively, eyes on Duo the entire time, half-lidded and thoughtful.

 

“Are you going to get me out of this box too?”

 

Duo shrugged, dismissively. “Well, now, that depends.  You gonna cooperate?  Answer some questions, that kind of thing?  Maybe try to not physically maim anyone?  That’s frowned on here, unless you’re Hilde.”

 

Quatre rolled his eyes.  “No one ever asked me any pertinent questions.  They just went on and on about some character they call the Joker, as though that meant anything to me.  They didn’t have a name, a description, a photo, anything.  It was all so _boring._ ”  He paused, eyes turning hard and dark.  “And those _officers_ ,” he spat the word, contemptuously, “thought an unconscious prisoner was an easy mark.  I guess no one warned them about waking a sleeping Gundam pilot.”  He looked down, examining his hands, all studious nonchalance.  “I didn’t kill them, they should be grateful.”

 

Duo raised his eyebrows.  Calling over his shoulder, he asked, “That true?”

 

There was a moment of waiting, then Wufei’s dry voice came over the speaker, “According to the reports, yes. Though one of them will probably never regain full use of his arm.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.”  And Wufei knew it, though Duo figured the statement was meant as a warning to anyone with similar inclinations in their facility.  Duo hoped they didn’t have the type, but you never knew.

 

“Reading between the lines, I would venture it’s true.”

 

Quatre muttered to himself.  “You’re supposed to _ask_ if someone wants to play, first.”

 

Duo nodded, decisively.  It wasn’t the Quatre he was used to, but it _was_ Quatre, and that made him family, in Duo’s mind.  “Let him out.  I’ll vouch for him.”

 

*

 

Duo regretted his decision within days. OK, not so much that he regretted helping Quatre out, it was the vouching for him part that became problematic.  Basically, he was now responsible for all of the blonde’s behavior, which wasn’t exactly ideal.  Quatre slunk around the locked classified floors, the majority of his time spent either tormenting the rest of the team with outrageous remarks or making lewd passes at both him and Wufei.  

 

When he bothered to attend the daily briefings he spent most of his time lounging on an armchair, questioning their intelligence and making pointed comments.  Truthfully, his insight was helpful, but the delivery needed work.

 

“Don’t be an idiot.  No one below a senior undersecretary has access to that sort of information.  Either someone is fucking a minister and selling the information, or you have a complete fool or a traitor in charge.”  He paused, looking up from the butterfly knife he was spinning open and closed, repeatedly. Duo found himself wondering where the damn knife had even come from.  “Actually,  they’re all complete fools, so obviously there’s a traitor.”  He began cleaning his nails with the blade.

 

Everyone stared at him, except Duo who was pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, and Heero, who was looking consideringly at the concept mapping they’d assembled on the whiteboard.  “He has a point.  About the minister part, anyway.”

 

Vinny grumbled from his seat, “Yeah, well, I could have lived without being called an idiot.”

 

“Sorry,” Quatre responded, not sounding the least bit apologetic.  “Next time I’ll be sure to make it a compliment sandwich.”  Hilde snorted in response, reading through an after-action report.

 

Duo shook his head, deciding to ignore both of them.  It wasn’t like intervening had helped, historically speaking.  Wufei snorted a laugh, quietly nudging his shoulder as he shifted around to the other side of the table, examining more paperwork.  Duo grimaced at him, before snickering himself.  It _was_ kind of funny.

 

Hektor shuffled through the file on the table, pulling out a photograph and tacking it to the whiteboard.  “This one. Haak.  Who was he?”

 

Heero glanced over, thoughtfully.  “He was an arms dealer, as far as I could tell.  Had a setup in Bruges redistributing illegal weapons.  He had some kind of connection to Brussels, but the money trail dried up after I eliminated him.”

 

“Maybe you should have thought of that first,” Hektor grumbled.

 

“Were you using financial transactions to ID targets?” Hilde asked, shuffling a stack of papers in front of her.

 

“Yes,” Heero responded, “I’ve got access to most of the major banks’ systems.”  


“I did not hear that,” Hektor muttered, turning back to the white board.

 

Quatre stopped the incessant knife twirling, staring off into space, head cocked to the side like he was listening to something no one else could hear.  Deftly tucking the knife away, he dragged himself out of the chair, stalking over towards Duo.  He rounded the table, backing the taller man up against it as he leaned closer.

 

Duo backed up, boxed in by the table, looking at him with wide eyes.  “Uh, can I help you, Q?”

 

“I’m bored, Duo.  Play with me?”  He trailed his fingers across Duo’s forearms, looking up at him through his lashes.  He pressed closer, tilting his face up.

 

Duo leaned back, practically climbing onto the table, arms braced behind him, glancing around wildly.  

 

Wufei looked torn between amusement and annoyance and everyone else basically ignored them.

 

Until the briefing room door flew open, a brand new face on the other side.

 

“No need to get up, I’m nobody important.” A smooth, strangely melodic voice filtered into the room, and the reactive maneuvers everyone had made at the entrance halted, oddly frozen, before returning back to their previous tasks.  

 

Duo knew that voice…

 

“Hello, lover!” Quatre chirped, venomously cheerful, eyes still on Duo’s face, pressing his body even closer.

 

“Well, I came to rescue you… but you don’t appear to be in any distress.”  Duo glanced around Quatre’s head, keeping half an eye on the blonde, to locate the speaker.

 

“Trowa?!” He gaped.  

 

The tall man in question was leaning casually on the now closed door, gun in hand, though it was pointed at the floor, green eyes evaluating the scene.  He took in Duo’s expression, his clear attempt to angle himself away from the enthusiastic blonde, and quirked a grin.  “Quatre, you’re supposed to _ask_ people if they want to play first.”  His eyes moved slowly down and then back up to where their bodies were pressed together.

 

The blonde in question leaned back, pouting.  “I _did_ ask.”  His eyes flickered to Wufei, who was watching Trowa with a narrowed gaze.  “It’s not _me_ he wants to play with,” he muttered, backing up.  

 

Just as Duo was starting to relax, easing off of the edge of the table, Quatre’s hand shot out, copping a _very_ intimate feel, and Duo yelped.  The blonde winked at him, turning towards their newest addition and sauntering to the doorway.  Trowa wrapped his free arm around the blonde’s waist, eyeing Duo appraisingly.  Another small smile quirked the edge of his lip, this one somehow sensual, inviting.  “Well, if he changes his mind and wants to play, he’s welcome to join us.”

 

Wufei’s hand slid across the table, discreetly, fingers tangling with Duo’s.  Trowa watched the interaction, a knowing look on his face.  “I see,” he said, meeting Wufei’s eyes.  “Consider it an open invitation.”  Duo felt the other man’s startled jerk.  Good, at least he wasn’t the only one feeling off balance.

 

Trowa turned his attention to Quatre, who'd been watching the whole interaction with interest, but now he tilted his head up to meet his eyes.  The taller pilot leaned in, kissing Quatre with a tenderness that, frankly, surprised everyone.  He took his time, the kiss relaxed and unhurried, though Duo could still see the glitter of his eyes under the lashes, and his grip on the gun never eased.  Long seconds after they started, the kiss ended, gently, and Quatre leaned forward to rest his head on Trowa’s shoulder.  The hand that had been on his back rubbed his shoulders soothingly.  “Better?” Trowa murmured, eyes on the room’s occupants.  

 

The team was strangely still and silent, which Duo was beginning to wonder about.  Only he, Wufei, and Heero seemed at all alert to the happenings in the doorway.  Vinny had turned back to his concept web, Hektor was sifting through more photographs, and Hilde was rearranging whatever files she had pulled, absorbed in her task.

 

It was really, really fuckin’ weird.  He looked over at Wufei, questioningly, who shrugged minutely.  They seemed alright, just like… Trowa wasn’t even there?  

 

Seriously, it was fuckin’ weird.

 

Quatre exhaled, long and low.  “Yes, much, thank you.”  He leaned back, putting some distance between them, though he didn’t step out of his reach, and the hand remained on his back.  He looked different, though Duo couldn’t say how exactly.  Less manic, more… weighted.  Grounded?  Something.

 

Trowa looked him over critically, taking in the tank top, the lack of shoes.  He passed Quatre the gun, casually, before reaching back to strip off the black sweater he was wearing, revealing a long sleeved shirt underneath.  Quatre held the gun firmly, in a practiced grip, and Duo realized this was not a new situation for them.  He traded the gun for the sweater, Trowa still cognizant of the room’s occupants, while Quatre pulled it over his head, cuffing the sleeves and tugging them up to his elbow.  “No shoes?”  Trowa asked.

 

Quatre shrugged.  “You know I… don’t care for them, when I’m… not myself.”

 

Duo spoke for the first time.  “Uh, we tried to give you some shoes man, you said you didn’t want them.  I, uh, I think they’re still in your room?”  He was thoroughly confused.

 

Quatre smiled at him, and for the first time he looked like the boy Duo had known years ago. “Yes, Duo, thank you.”

 

Trowa looked him over again, but this time it was less appraising and more respectful consideration.  After a moment, he nodded his thanks at Duo.  Turning to Quatre, he asked, “Ready to go?”

 

Wufei made an aborted motion, as though to object, but Quatre beat him to it.

 

“No,” he said, slowly, “I think we have to stay.  There’s… something happening.”  His brow furrowed in thought.  “I can’t remember the details.  But it involves us.  We’ll have to stay, at least for a little while.”

 

Trowa shrugged, tucking the gun away, moving further into the room to commandeer a chair in the corner.  “Alright then, fill me in.”

 

“Oh look, we’re getting the band back together,” Heero grumbled sarcastically, looking irritated.  

 

Hilde laughed, looking at him in amusement.  “Heero, I’m impressed!  Yuy and pop culture are an unusual combination.  I’m not sure how it applies here, but still.  A for effort.”

 

Duo and Wufei stared at her before turning in unison to look at Trowa, who had practically melted into his corner, nearly unnoticeable.  He smirked at them.

 

Quatre wandered up to the whiteboard, looking at it contemplatively.  Vinny stepped back a bit, making room for him, though he looked a little worried.  This was unusual behavior for the blonde, who seldom took any concentrated interest in what they were doing, though from his comments it was clear he was paying attention.  He pulled down a small grouping of information and statistics from a corner of the board.  

 

“What are you doing?” Vinny asked, reaching to put it back.

 

“It doesn’t belong with the rest of this.”  Quatre Muttered, distracted, still staring at the board.  

 

“Excuse me?  What do you mean it doesn’t fit?  It’s clearly a criminal syndicate and -”

 

Quatre snorted.  “It’s on L3,” he replied, and then he turned to look at Vinny, a flash of… something… in his eyes.  “That’s _my_ territory, remember?”  His smirk was more the Quatre they’d all been accustomed to for the last few weeks.

 

“Quat,”  Trowa called from the back, and the blonde sighed, settling.  

 

“Look,” he started again, “yes, there are criminal elements on L3.  That’s true anywhere.  But the crime on the colony doesn’t fit with the rest of this.  There’s weapons, yes, but nothing high capacity, large caliber, or armor piercing.  Just smaller handguns and the like.  Nothing fully automatic.  There are drugs, but only party drugs, nothing hard, no one OD’ing on street drugs.  There’s prostitution, but not human trafficking.  All of the sex workers that have been picked up by police were adults, and none of them showed any signs of being trafficked.  It’s criminal, but it’s a different caliber of crime.”

 

“So you’re saying L3 has… classy criminals?”  Hilde asked, on the verge of laughter again.  Hektor rolled his eyes.

 

Quatre ignored both of them, head cocked to the side as he considered what was left on the board.  “You’re looking at this the wrong way,” he muttered, rearranging it.  “You’re trying to figure out how it’s connected with each other, but it’s not.”  He pinned the last page with a flourish before stepping back.

 

“It’s all connected to Brussels.”

 

Duo stepped up beside him to look at the now-modified board.  Where before they’d had all the different pieces grouped to see how each one connected to another, similar enterprise, now they were arranged around a central component - the mysterious Brussels issue.  Each piece was directly connected to Brussels, often through money from shell corporations, and after that, sometimes to each other.  

 

Duo glanced over at Quatre, impressed, but the blonde wasn’t even looking at his handiwork, he was turned toward Trowa, who was watching him with pride and a speculative gleam.

 

Wufei spoke to the room at large.  “This is good progress, the most we’ve made on this issue in quite some time.  I’ll deliver it to Une, get confirmation of our next op.”  He was clearly calling an end to their meeting.

 

The non-pilot portion of the team drifted out, Hilde snapping off a sarcastic salute, Vinny still shaking his head, bewildered, at the board.  “I can’t believe I missed that.”

 

“Yeah, well, Q-ball is a tactical mastermind, man, don’t feel too bad.”  Duo clapped him on the shoulder as he followed him to the door, shutting it on his heels and leaning against it, arms and ankles crossed.  “So, Tro, you wanna tell us what that was all about?” he asked, all casual nonchalance, as though his eyes weren’t burning through the other man and his back wasn’t tense and stiff.  The air around him shimmered, like a heat wave.

 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” the taller man replied, looking Duo over meaningfully as he rose to stand beside Quatre.

 

Wufei interrupted their staring contest.  “If we’re planning to have show and tell, this probably isn’t the best place.”  He paused, thinking.  “How did you get in here anyway?”

 

Trowa grinned.  “I’ll demonstrate it for you, actually.  Consider it part of the talent contest.”  He turned to go, Quatre draped under his arm.

 

They filed out of the briefing room, Wufei and Duo in the rear, their hands brushing occasionally as they walked. No one even gave Trowa a second glance.  In fact, sometimes he didn’t get a first.   Reaching the elevator bank, he halted, looking around.  Spotting a lab technician he called, his voice taking on the melodic, hypnotic tone Duo had heard when he first arrived, “Come here.”  The man, surprisingly, turned obediently on the spot and walked over.  He looked up at Trowa, face oddly blank.  

 

Trowa glanced at Wufei, speaking normally.  “Where are we going?”

 

“Down a level to the residential quarters.  We can get Quatre’s shoes, and talk.”

 

Trowa nodded, turning back to his new acquaintance.  “Take us downstairs to the residential section.”

 

The technician turned without a word, pressing his keycard against the sensor at the elevator bank, and a set of doors slid smoothly open.  They all got on the elevator, and the technician lifted his pass again, and spoke for the first time, into the speaker, “Basement level 7.”

 

The doors closed and the car descended quietly.  As they were all filing off of the elevator, Trowa turned to the man one more time, told him to go back to work, and walked away as the doors shut, the technician’s face vaguely confused.

 

They gathered in Wufei’s apartment, mostly because Duo had breezed by his like it didn’t exist, not ready to let them all into his space, especially considering Wufei was now spending more time in Duo’s apartment than his own.  For all his extroverted and brash behavior, he was an extremely private person, and he wasn’t ready to share.

 

They had barely settled into the small living room before he turned to Trowa.  “Well?” he demanded, impatience getting the best of him.  “You wanna explain your little Jedi mind trick?”

 

Trowa shrugged.  “You just saw it. People don’t notice me if I don’t want them to.  I can make them do things.  There’s not much to it.”  He eyed Duo speculatively.  “Wasn’t this supposed to be a mutual disclosure?”

 

Duo snorted.  He didn’t think Trowa’d been all that forthcoming.  “One more question.  You ever used it on us?”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes.  “It doesn’t work on you.  I just proved that upstairs, when you noticed me and no one else did.  You want another demonstration?”  He looked over at Heero, typing away on his laptop.  “Heero,” his voice took on that same cadence, “bark like a dog.”

 

Duo burst out laughing.  Heero didn’t deign to answer, just sniffed in annoyance.  

 

He’d have paid money to see him do it though.

 

Trowa was looking at him expectantly. He sighed. “Same shit as always, Tro, watchin’ the world burn.” He held his hands out, flames dancing momentarily, before he crushed them in his fists. He glanced up at Wufei, grinning wryly. “And ‘Fei makes it rain. Literally. So don't ask him to do it indoors, it really dampens the mood.”

 

The man in question rolled his eyes elaborately, though Duo could see they were crinkled in amusement at his bad pun, while Quatre giggled.

 

Duo turned to Heero. “What about you, pal?”

 

Heero shrugged in response, setting his laptop aside. “I'm not a NewType. Dr. J hypothesized I was what he called a Coordinator, probably second generation, since he couldn't find any evidence of gene splicing. It explains a lot.  Stronger, faster than average.  Better eyesight and hearing.  I learn faster, process information better than normal people, and I’m essentially immune to disease.”

 

Returning his attention to Trowa and Quatre, nestled comfortably in the couch, he asked the question they'd all been wondering about.

 

“What happened to you, Q?”

 

The blonde pursed his lips in frustration. “Zero happened to me.”  He sounded incredibly bitter.

 

Trowa squeezed his knee in support.

 

Looking over at Heero, he considered his next words. “The Zero system was created for Heero. Hearing that he is probably a Coordinator explains a lot. They designed the system for Heero’s neural pathways and when I used it, the system couldn't adapt to my pathways. As far as I can tell, it formed new ones, adapting my brain to the system instead of the other way around. The changes have had some… residual effect.”

 

Trowa snorted softly but didn't say anything.

 

“We typically stay out of the public eye,” Quatre continued, ignoring Trowa's interruption. “My moods can be… unpredictable. I'm susceptible to Trowa's suggestions during those times, as you saw. As long as he's here I'll be fine.  Even if I get out of sorts, Trowa can manage. Though you seemed to handle it well enough, Duo. Thank you.”

 

Duo shrugged, embarrassed. “You’re family, man, you'da done the same for me.”

 

Heero cleared his throat.  “So are we just not going to talk about the fact that you’re running the crime syndicate on L3 or…?”

 

Duo boggled at him, before turning back to Trowa and Quatre, the latter of whom at least had the grace to look abashed.

 

“Yes, about that,”  Wufei began, pulling up a chair from the dinette set, “we actually aren’t going to talk about it.  It’s outside Preventers’ purview, technically, since it’s a local issue and none of the crimes reported fall under our mandate.”

 

Trowa actually looked a little smug at that, nudging Quatre meaningfully.  “Yes, yes, you were right,” the blonde muttered, shoving back at him a little.

 

“Y’all have gotten weird,” Duo announced, leaning back.  “But seriously, what the fuck?”

 

Quatre sighed.  “After the war, when we noticed my… problems… we went into hiding. My family was after me to come home and be a useless figurehead, which would have been incredibly problematic even if I weren’t completely unstable. The risk of my being locked away was too great, given everything I know and am capable of.  At first it was fine but…” he trailed off, glancing at Trowa.

 

Who picked up the story.  “We drew too much attention to ourselves, unintentionally attracting the notice of a particularly nasty gang.  Once we… sorted that out, I realized that I’d created something of a reputation.  It just seemed prudent to take advantage of it, to ensure our safety and anonymity.”

 

“And now you’re a crime boss?”  Duo asked, flatly, disbelieving.

 

“The good kind, though,”  Heero chimed in, sardonically, “after all, there aren't any _bad_ drugs, weapons, or prostitutes on L3.  Just the more wholesome type.”

 

Duo snorted.  “Well we aren’t calling you the Joker over the radio, so you’ll have to pick a new codename, clown-boy.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! ALL IS REVEALED. Mostly.
> 
> Many thanks as always to ChronicWhimsy for her excellent beta skills!
> 
> OK so exposition is awkward and clunky, but hopefully it went ok here? 
> 
> Gundam wiki tells me that Coordinators are genetically enhanced humans, specifically for faster learning, stronger and faster physical abilities, and immunity. 1st generation coordinators were enhanced in the embryo stage and implanted using IVF. 2nd generation coordinators were the children of 1st generation coordinators who had passed on their enhanced traits naturally. 
> 
> I made up the Zero system stuff to suit my purposes, obviously.
> 
> Trowa: Crime Lord for the Classy Criminals


	10. Check the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relena gets kidnapped. The team has a very short window in which to find and rescue her before she's killed. Also, the mystery Bad Guy is finally revealed.

_ I'm headed straight for the castle _

_ They wanna make me their queen _

_ And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying  _

_ That I probably shouldn’t be so mean _

 

Castle - Halsey

 

* * *

 

 Relena looked up, feeling relief that she hoped didn’t show on her face, at the knock on her office door.  She’d been entrenched with the Minister of Security for over an hour, and she was more than ready to move on with her day.  She’d thus far been unsuccessful in trying to extricate herself from the meeting.

 

Von Holck had been one of her biggest early supporters of Pacifism, and as such she felt she owed him a great deal. When she’d made her bid for Foreign Minister after 2 years as Vice Foreign Minister, he’d come out as a staunch advocate, deriding the criticisms of her opponents, leading to her appointment by President Campbell. But over the years, he’d become a near-zealot, and now time spent with him was more of a trial than a meeting of minds.  

 

Now that she’d quietly spread the word of her intention to run for President, it felt as though she’d conveniently run into him on far too many occasions, and he was always well-prepared with all sorts of handy advice on how she could handle her campaign.  President Campbell, it was well-known, didn’t intend to run for re-election, and she felt she had a good chance at the office on her reputation and voting record alone.  Minister Von Holck, who’d maintained his position for two terms, didn’t seem to agree, wanting her to expand on her goals and views more aggressively.

 

His current soapbox was Preventers and how they needed to be phased out entirely.  He’d even brought infographics about their most recent failed missions and a cost analysis of what funding them was costing the government and how it could be effectively re-distributed into other programs.

 

It was rather alarming, Relena thought, considering he was the one tasked with running it.  In fact, now that she thought about it, he’d voted for or championed a reduction in funding on at least two separate occasions.

 

Dorothy entered the office, her normally cool countenance a bit flustered.  “Ministers.  There has been a terrorist threat; we’ve been instructed to evacuate.  If you could both follow me, there’s a car waiting.”

 

Relena rose hurriedly, reaching for her handbag beside the desk.  She rounded the edge to follow her blonde attache, Minister Von Holck following her, grumbling under his breath.

 

Hustling down the stairs towards the waiting town car, Von Holck hadn’t stopped his steady stream of commentary for the entirety of their trek to the little-known underground garage.  “This is  _ exactly _ the sort of situation Preventers is supposed to be handling, and clearly they aren’t doing a very good job of it…”  he trailed off, still muttering.

 

Relena finally lost some of her cool.  “And if we dissolved them, as you’re so keen on,  _ then _ who would bear the onus of this situation?  Who would we call?  There are always going to be those who want to use fear and intimidation and threats to motivate the government.  Who would you suggest we call in these circumstances if not Preventers?”  She slid into the back seat, slightly out of breath from their pace.  “Really Minister, the Preventers are your responsibility, if you’re unhappy with their performance, perhaps you should reevaluate how you’re utilizing them, rather than advocating their elimination.”

 

He gaped at her like a fish for a moment, as he clambered into the back of the car behind her, Dorothy following to settle herself between the two of them, somewhat obnoxiously, Relena noted with amusement.  The car pulled smoothly away, driving up the ramp out of the garage into bright morning sun.

 

Von Holck seemed to regroup himself.  “Foreign Minister, I expected you to be in favor of less government sponsored violence and weapon manufacturing.”

 

Relena pursed her lips, restraining herself.  She took a breath.  These were exactly the sorts of questions she was going to face if she continued to pursue her political goals.  She could see Dorothy watching her out of the corner of her eye, face composed in barely restrained amusement. This had been a well-traveled argument between them, years ago.  Another lifetime, she sometimes felt.  

 

“Minister Von Holck.”  She took another breath, thinking back to another conversation from years ago.  “I cannot be more concerned with the appearance of disarmament than I am with the lives of the citizens of the ESUN.  The people deserve to feel safe and secure in their homes, knowing that we’re willing to take up weapons  _ if necessary _ to defend the peace they’ve demanded from us.  That’s not the same as a police state, or oppression.”

 

Dorothy looked impressed.  

 

Von Holck looked like he’d eaten something sour.  There was an awkward pause as he considered her face, the determined set of her shoulders.

 

“Well, Minister Darlian, I’m sorry to hear you feel that way.  I had such high hopes for you.”  His voice was strange, different from the congenial, if somewhat pompous, way he typically spoke to her.

 

Relena blinked at him, noticing her vision had gone a bit fuzzy around the edges, as though she’d had too much champagne at a state dinner.  Next to her, Dorothy’s head drooped, nodding, as she slumped sideways to rest against Relena.  

 

The adrenaline of her panic carried her through another few seconds, and she tried to scramble for her handbag, her phone, but she was barely able to move.

 

Von Holck chuckled at her, though he seemed a bit sluggish himself.  “Now, now, none of that.”  He nudged the bag further out of her reach with his foot, then seemed to settle into the corner of the seat, leaning against the door, getting comfortable.

 

She tried to force her limbs to cooperate with her, but drowsiness overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t manage more than an awkward jerking motion, her own head tilting to rest against Dorothy’s, staring down listlessly at her hands in her lap.  

 

The last thing she saw was the gold charm bracelet she always wore, the teddy bear winking up at her, initials engraved on the back a reminder of the past.

 

*

 

She woke up muzzy headed and cotton mouthed, propped against a wall in a dark room.  Relena had no idea of the time, but judging by the lack of light from the taped up windows, probably hours had passed.  She’d been divested of her high heeled pumps and her handbag, but otherwise seemed untouched.  She turned her head to find Dorothy watching her from a few feet away, similarly barefoot.  

 

She opened her mouth to speak, ask where they were, when she heard voices from the next room.  

 

“What d’ya want us to do with ‘em?”  It was a rough, male voice that she didn’t recognize.  

 

She recognized the next one, however.  Her eyes widened as she looked at Dorothy, identifying Von Holck’s timbre.  Relena scooted closer to the door, straining to hear.

 

“- and I’ve had someone make a ransom demand.  They’re to deliver the money to the drop point within the next 12 hours.  Of course, it won’t matter in the end, but keep them alive until after that time in case we need to make assurances of their current status.  How long will they sleep?”

 

“Prob’ly another hour or so, I reckon.  They’re smaller than you, gas hit ‘em harder.”

 

_ Well, that explained a number of things _ . 

 

Von Holck made a satisfied sound.  “Excellent.  Don’t even open the door.  If they raise a fuss, tell them you’ve already killed me and you’re happy to take care of them next.  That should keep them subdued.”  He paused.  “I’ll contact you when the money drop has been made, and you can be rid of them then.”

 

“What’re you gonna do?”

 

“Oh, I’ll be delivered, scuffed and bruised, but mostly unharmed, to take up the bid for Presidency in Ms. Darlian’s memory.”  He chuckled.  “I should be shoe-in.”

 

The other man cleared his throat awkwardly.  “What if someone comes lookin’ for ‘em?”

 

There was a silence, then Von Holck spoke again, clearly annoyed.  “Then you  _ kill _ them, idiot.  And the women.”  He sighed heavily.  

 

Relena waited, but no one mentioned where they were.  Without a clear idea of the amount of time that had passed, or even if they’d come by car or some other means of transport, she couldn’t even begin to speculate.  No more voices were forthcoming from the other room, so she shuffled silently over to sit by Dorothy and wait.  She wanted to give Von Holck plenty of time to leave the premises before she did anything drastic.  The slim blonde woman leaned her head on Relena’s shoulder and twined their fingers together.  Relena gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

 

They’d just been given twelve hours to live.

 

Determined not to dwell on it, she turned her mind to the thought of escape.  There were windows in the room, presumably they went somewhere.  Of course there was no telling what was beyond them, and neither of them had any shoes if the terrain was rough. Then again, damaged feet were infinitely preferable to dead.  She was grateful, suddenly, that she’d worn trousers rather than the dresses she’d favored in her youth, that Dorothy was dressed similarly in pants and a sweater. 

 

Even if they got out of the windows, there was the risk of being spotted, caught, captured, even shot.  Though she’d witnessed first hand how hard it was to hit a moving target.  Her lips quirked at the memory, wistful and bittersweet.  There was nothing else in the room with them, except a bucket in the corner, and a small vent in the ceiling, far too small for a person to fit through.  It was bleak, to say the least, but at least it was relatively clean.

 

They sat there, in silence for a long time, as the room got darker.

 

Finally, Dorothy shifted a bit, clearing her throat.  “Isn’t this the part of the story where I try to convince you this could be our last night together, and we shouldn’t waste it?”  It was spoken with her usual dry wit, as though she couldn’t care less about the outcome, but Relena could see eyes peeking at her from underneath golden lashes, waiting for her reaction.

 

Relena didn’t disappoint, barking out a laugh in surprise, shoulders shaking.  This was what Relena liked best about her, that ability to make her laugh no matter the circumstances.  Dorothy shifted, moving her head away from the jostling motion, to lean back against the wall instead. Their fingers were still entwined on the floor between them. Relena looked down, studying the pale, elegant hand wrapped in her own.  

 

It had gone unspoken between them for years, Relena quietly aspiring to ever-higher governmental positions, Dorothy quietly supporting her in her efforts.  There had always been time, later.  When the work was done.

 

Suddenly, later was much shorter.

 

Sighing quietly, she scooted closer to the other woman.  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, still staring at their hands, “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”  She leaned her head on Dorothy’s shoulder in return.

 

Lips brushed over her hair.

 

“Well, to be fair, I haven’t ever threatened to kill you, which you seem to take as a declaration of love.”  

 

Relena snorted, expressively.  “Hardy, har, har.” 

 

Dorothy’s tone turned mischievous,  “Do you think Von Holck is planning to propose to just you, or both of us?”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

“Make me.”

 

The words were scarcely past her lips before Relena was meeting her challenge.  Lifting her head from the other woman’s shoulder, she turned her face, lining their mouths up, pressing them together, lips moving softly against one another.

 

They stayed like that for a long moment, Relena’s hand coming up to rest against Dorothy’s neck, turning her body more firmly toward the other, moving closer.  Their lips parted, breath mingling.  Relena shivered, just a bit, before pulling back, slowly.

 

She opened her eyes to look at Dorothy, her mouth slack and eyes still closed, until she blinked them open, meeting Relena’s gaze.

 

“Effective,” Relena murmured, stroking the soft skin of Dorothy’s jaw, “I’ll have to remember that tactic for later.”

 

Dorothy rolled her eyes.

 

Relena squeezed their still-clasped hands, snatched another quick peck on the lips, and rose to her feet, moving to the windows to examine them, fiercely determined to get them both out of this.

 

Both windows were papered on the outside, to her frustration, and the frames were nailed shut.  She gave them a very thorough examination, but couldn’t find anything useful.  The corner of the paper on the left window was torn a little, but it was dark outside and she couldn’t determine anything at all about what was beyond them. She gave the edges of both windows a good hard tug while she was at it, just in case they weren’t stuck as firmly as they appeared. Finally, she gave up.  They’d have to break the glass to get out, and she had literally no idea what was on the other side.  A ten-story drop, for all she knew.  And the sound of the window breaking would surely bring their captors running.

 

She huffed in exasperation, returning to her spot by the wall, sliding down until her knees were bent close to her chest, arms crossed on top of them, resting her chin on her arms.  Well, they did have several hours to think about it.  Maybe they’d come up with something.  

 

If nothing else, she wasn’t going to go quietly when they finally did come for them.  She wasn’t the helpless girl of her youth anymore.

 

And she wanted her ‘later’.

 

*

 

 

Sally burst through the briefing room door and announced, “We have a problem.”  Her face looked tight, strained.

 

She didn’t even give Trowa a second glance, Wufei noted, filing the information away for later.

 

Everyone looked up at her expectantly, even Heero managing to tear his attention away from the laptop to do so.  Vinny and Quatre stepped back from the whiteboard they’d been considering, still focused on the Brussels situation, to turn their attention on her.

 

“Eight hours ago, a bomb threat was made against the ESUN capitol building via a burner phone.  Following standard procedure, the building was evacuated, all senior cabinet members ferried away by pre-ordained transportation plans.  The building was thoroughly searched by EOD, but no bomb was found.”

 

“So what’s the problem?”  Duo asked, eyebrows raised.  “We’re not the bomb squad.  I mean, I’m a one man bomb squad, but I don’t think that’s what you’re here for.”

 

Sally gave him a quelling look, which he ignored.  “When the evacuation order was lifted, and official business resumed, some of the evacuees didn’t return.”

 

She turned to looked directly at Heero.

 

“Elrich Von Holck, Dorothy Catalonia, and Relena Darlian evacuated together, and no one has heard from any of them.  Their cell phones are all off, we haven’t been able to triangulate any kind of signal from them.  Their last known location was pinged just a few miles away from the capitol building.”

 

Glancing around the room at the stunned faces, she continued, “We received a ransom demand and further instructions regarding the release of political prisoners in exchange for their safe return.  We have,” she checked her watch, “six hours until the deadline, at which point the kidnappers say they will kill all three hostages.  We have no idea where they are and no way to trace them, so if you have ideas, I’m open to them.   There’s an official team on it, of course, but Une wants all of your attention devoted to this-”

 

“They’re in Durbuy,” Heero interrupted, focused on his laptop, keyboard clacking.  “Or Relena is, at least.”

 

“Alright, man, that was just creepy.”  Duo groaned, staring at his teammate.  “What the fuck, did you microchip her like a pet or something?”

 

Wufei had been wondering the same thing.  It was rather disconcerting that Yuy had Relena’s location at his fingertips.

 

Heero glared at Duo, but there was the faint impression of something that might be called a blush high on his cheeks.  “No.”

 

“Yuy,” Wufei interrupted, seeing as Duo was winding himself up for a truly impassioned response, “How do you know the location?”

 

The other man turned his attention back to the laptop, keying in a few more things, before turning it to face the room at large.  There was a blinking location on a map, which he’d zoomed in to show the roof of what looked like a small, isolated house.  “Her charm bracelet has a tracking chip.  I gave it to her, after the war.  Just in case.”  He had a look of mulish challenge on his face.  

 

“Dude.  That’s  _ exactly like _ microchipping a fucking pet.  Does she even  _ know _ you’re stalking her?” 

 

Duo was right.  It was creepy.

 

Wufei sighed.  Unfortunately, it was also, apparently, necessary.  Certainly, no one could deny the effectiveness.

 

Sally cleared her throat before the two of them could devolve into an actual fight.  “Well, uh, since we located her so easily, I can turn that information over to the official team-”

 

“No.”  Heero said immediately, closing the laptop.

 

Wufei resisted the urge to rub his face in his hands.  To think, he’d agreed to this absurdity.  It was like wrangling small children.

 

“Sally,” he began, before  _ she _ could get into a fight with Heero, “how would you explain your knowledge of her location to the team?  Not to mention the legal repercussions of Heero’s… strange hobby.  We’re the best team Preventers has.  It would be better, overall, to let us handle it.”

 

She stared him down, or attempted to, but he didn’t flinch, regarding her calmly.  Finally, she nodded, once, in concession.  “Alright.  Let’s hear it.”

 

They got down to business.

 

*

 

Relena had, for the second time, the disconcerting experience of waking up in a dark, unfamiliar room.  She and Dorothy had been talking, reminiscing, stretched out on the floor, nothing better to fill the hours, and she’d apparently dozed off.  Earlier, someone had come and shoved some lukewarm fast food in paper sacks through a gap in the door, flashing a nasty looking pistol.  They’d stayed well back, waiting for the door to close, before Dorothy had gotten up to grab the bags, an arm out to restrain Relena when she would have risen to get them.

 

It had been simultaneously touching and exasperating.

 

And the whole experience was more than a little embarrassing.  The bucket in the corner had been intended for exactly what one would expect, and unfortunately been made use of by each of them.  Dwelling on the indignity of it allowed her not to dwell on the… other aspects.

 

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but she knew their time was ticking down.

 

Several more attempts had been made on the windows, but they’d stopped short of breaking the glass, fear of drawing their captors making them hesitate, along with the knowledge that they probably wouldn’t get far barefoot anyway.  

 

Privately, she’d decided she wasn’t going down without a fight, and if they were going to kill her, she’d at least make them work for it.

 

Relena turned her head, gazing into the darkness next to her where she could feel the presence of another.  She could just barely make out the blonde locks, the glint of eyes.  She groped for Dorothy’s hand, gripping it in the darkness, scooting closer until their bodies were pressed close from shoulder to hip.  Dorothy let go of her hand and raised her arm to slide it under Relena’s neck, pulling her closer, Relena resting her head on her shoulder.  Warm fingers stroked her back.  Relena put her own arm out, over a slim stomach, resting her hand on her hip.  She took a deep breath, inhaling the warm scent of skin, with the faintest traces of perfume applied hours ago.

 

She ignored the moisture on her face, leaking from her eyes.

 

From outside the door she heard a muffled thud, an unfamiliar popping sound.  She jumped, alarmed, the sounds the first they’d heard in hours.

 

Rolling away from each other, they both rose to their feet, Dorothy moving to stand slightly in front of her.  Huffing, Relena stepped up beside her, a couple of feet away, rolling her eyes.

 

But when she reached for her hand, both of their palms were sweaty.

 

Firm, confident footsteps approached the door.

 

Relena waited, her heart in her throat, fingers clasped in Dorothy’s, as the door swung open.  

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, none of this would be possible without ChronicWhimsy’s beta reading, prompting, poking, and brain degreasing. She’s truly lovely <3
> 
> Alright, alright, I fell back on a well-used and entirely fictional ‘knockout gas’ trope. I REGRET NOTHING. 
> 
> The teddy bear charm IS INDEED a gift from Heero, and also a tracking chip. The initials are his. 
> 
> I hope everyone was suitably surprised by Von Holck’s traitorous heart!!
> 
> Also, Surprise! DxR. It surprised me too, actually.
> 
> I totally imagine that Heero was in NO WAY going to allow Relena to go missing again. That had gone on enough times already, so when he gave her a nice teddy bear present (similar to the stuffed bear but presented as a ‘so you can always keep it with you’ note) she was touched and OF COURSE she never took it off, because Heero gave it to her. I doubt he told her it was a stalker bracelet. That would piss her Right Off, I’m sure.
> 
> I can’t even type ‘down to business’ without mentally adding ‘to defeat the Huns’. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is sticking with this!!! All the comments and kudos absolutely mean the world to me <3 I love you all!!!!


	11. Hostage Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is off to try and rescue Relena, capture Von Holck, and generally take care of business.

_ Some people got the real problems _

_ Some people out of luck _

_ Some people think I can solve them _

_ Lord heavens above _

_ I'm only human after all _

 

Human - Rag’n’Bone Man

* * *

 

 

Wufei was watching satellite feeds, communicating with the team via comm system.  He was feeling mildly disgruntled about it as well, despite the fact that everyone had agreed it was the best division of resources.  Quatre was with him, but his penchant for instability made him an… unreliable… resource.

 

Vinny, who would normally be relegated to the surveillance van for an operation, was being tapped for his sniper skills, along with Heero and Hilde, the three of them providing 360 degree coverage of the property.  Hektor, Duo, and Trowa were the ground force, intended to go into the house and remove Relena and company to safety.

 

Because they were basically going in blind, Wufei had commandeered government satellites for surveillance of the area, so they’d at least be able to get a bead on a general number of people in the area.  That also meant that they had to time the entire operation for a 15 minute interval during which two satellites converged on the area to provide them with the most possible imagery.

 

He sincerely hoped this didn’t go horribly, horribly wrong.  

 

“I have eyes on in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… live.  Engaging thermal scanning.  I count… three heat signatures outside the property, in motion, and five warm bodies stationary inside the house.  Two are sequestered in the smallest back bedroom.”

 

Wufei thought that last was strange.  Why would only two people be alone in the other room, when there were three hostages?  Obviously, they wouldn’t have three hostages in the main living areas with guards in the bedroom.

 

He hoped one of them wasn’t already dead.

 

He received four acknowledgements over the radio - the three snipers, and one from Duo, responding for his whole team.

 

There wasn’t enough satellite time to determine if the guards had a timed patrol or route, so the plan was for him to talk the team through to the house unseen, and their snipers to take out the guards if necessary.  Rifle reports were loud, and they weren’t readily suppressed.  

 

“Probable hostages in the back bedroom.  Possibly one hostage in the main living area, assume all others are hostile.”

 

Quatre made a considering noise from over his shoulder.  The longer he’d been away from Trowa, the more… tense he had gotten.  He wasn’t back to the state he’d been in when they found him, but he was definitely darker, more volatile.  Wufei made a bare turn of his head, able to see the blonde man out of his peripherals.  He had his head tilted to the side as though listening to something.

 

“There are only two hostages.”  He hummed tunelessly.  “Everyone else is a bad guy.”  He smirked.  “Including us.”

 

Wufei eyed him, turning the words over in his mind.  “How do you know?”

 

Quatre wandered over to the other seat, flopping into it lazily, one leg over the armrest, spinning the seat.  “Oh Wufei,” he drawled, “I feel it in my _heart_.”  He put a hand to his chest, leaning his head back to look at Wufei upside down.  “I always know who the bad guys are.”  The smile turned predatory.

 

_Oh, lovely timing._  Wufei clicked the comms back on.  “Harley says only the two targets in the back room are hostages, all others hostile.”  He rolled his eyes.  Calling Quatre ‘Harley’ over the comms had been Duo’s bright idea, and he’d snickered nearly uncontrollably over it, and refused to explain.  Given the hurried way the op had been put together, there hadn’t been time or reason to argue about it.  Trowa had smirked knowingly in response and that had been the end of it.

 

Wufei could barely say the idiotic nicknames with a straight face.  Everyone was getting a new codename as soon as he could manage it.

 

“Copy.  Talk us through the insertion.  Joker to go in first, Diablo and Atlas to follow.”

 

That was another thing they’d decided on before they started.  Once they cleared a path to the house, Trowa was going to go in the house initially, banking on his ability to clear their path with the least amount of danger to the hostages.  

 

Wufei watched the feed for a few more seconds.  “You’ll have about a thirty second window to clear to the fence line.  There’s a large bush on the north side you can take cover behind.”

 

“Willco.”

 

“Move in 3… 2… 1…. Go.”

 

Wufei waited in silence.

 

“Secure.”

 

He breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“I have eyes on hostile one.”  Heero clicked in.  “Entering Spectre’s line of sight in approximately ten seconds.”

 

Wufei watched the feed, noting the guard Heero was watching.  Once Hilde had him in her sights, there’d be another small window of opportunity to get in the front door.

 

“Spectre has eyes on hostile.”

 

“Joker, clear to move.  You have a twenty second window.”

 

“Copy.”

 

He sat back to wait.  And pray.

 

*

 

Duo and Hektor followed Trowa at a fast clip to the front door.  The tall ex-pilot reached the door, hand on the knob, Duo and Hektor plastering themselves, backs to the wall, on either side of him.  Trowa forced the knob, sliding inside the smallest possible gap, and Duo could just barely hear him speak.

 

“Evening, gentleman.  Just relax, we’re here to help.”

 

There was a few moments’ pause, Duo waiting impatiently, and then his voice came over the comms.  “Main living area secured.”

 

Duo and Hektor followed him in, Duo pausing to gape at the scene.  Trowa was calmly zip-tying three unresisting terrorists to wooden kitchen chairs, where they’d apparently walked of their own accord.  On the floor near the couch was a slew of weaponry.  

  
They’d been very well-prepared terrorists, Duo realized, looking over the array of assault rifles, pistols, and tactical knives.  He even saw a couple of flash grenades.

 

“Are you sure that’s all of their weapons?” Hektor rumbled, eyeing the three men skeptically.

 

“Well I asked them _very_ nicely,”  Trowa answered, securing the last man’s ankle, “so I think so, yes.”

 

Duo rolled his eyes, turning away to the only closed door in the place.  He strolled up, reaching for the knob.  

 

“Duo!” Hektor hissed, but he ignored him, swinging the door wide, weapon in hand, but pointed down.

 

He took in the scene quickly, the two blonde women standing there waiting, looking tousled and exhausted.  

 

And holding hands.

 

He grinned, tugging the skull-print face mask down, and pushing his tactical goggles up onto his head. “Hey Princess.  What’s a good girl like you doing in a place like this?”

 

“Duo?!”  She looked completely bewildered.

 

“In the flesh.  Ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

 

He suddenly found his arms full of enthusiastic woman, as he was hugged fiercely.  Patting her back awkwardly, he looked around for a savior.  Dorothy smirked at him.  

 

Nope, he still wasn’t over her eyebrows.

 

“Uh, where’s Von Holck?”

 

Relena released him, going from relieved and grateful to flaming pissed in a matter of seconds.  “Oh, off writing his acceptance speech for the presidential nomination, I imagine.”  She looked infuriated.

 

Dorothy translated.  “He orchestrated the entire thing.  We overheard him telling someone out there-” she gestured at the room behind him- “after we woke up.  He had a villainous monologue before he left, although we don’t know where he went.”

 

“Well, that complicates things considerably,”  Trowa remarked, coming up behind Duo.  He narrowed his eyes in thought.  “We can’t risk a firefight getting out of here.”  He gave Duo a meaningful look.  Hektor nodded in agreement.

 

Duo reached for his earpiece.  “Chimera, we have two hostages secure.  Third is not present.  We need the perimeter secured.  Three suspects in custody.”

 

He received an affirmative reply.  Moments later there were three, successive rifle reports.  

 

Relena flinched, Dorothy wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

 

“Exit secured.  Bringing the van around.”

 

*

 

The ride back to Preventers headquarters was made in terse mostly-silence.  

 

It didn’t help that the detained kidnappers were tossed in the back of the van with everyone else, but Relena had seemed flabbergasted by the presence of all five pilots obviously working in conjunction with elite members of the Preventers.  

 

Not to mention Quatre humming sinister tunes and grinning at Dorothy, despite Trowa’s restraining hand on his arm.

 

They pulled the van in under the basement garage, driving around to the secured entrance and hustling Relena and Dorothy in first, accompanied by Hilde and Vinny.  Duo, Hektor, and Wufei escorted the prisoners next, being that they were the ‘official’ Preventers.  Heero, Quatre, and Trowa disappeared to the back elevators, with plans to meet them in the underground section of the compound unnoticed.  

 

Sally met them inside, bustling the hostage group off to one of the classified conference rooms they used for briefings.  Wufei stopped her as she turned away, a hand on her elbow, giving her a significant look.  “Call Une.”

 

She looked surprised, but nodded.  

 

They deposited their prisoners into individual containment cells, Hektor signing the arrest record, before hurrying back to join the others.

 

Sally was waiting with Relena and Dorothy.  “Une is on her way.  Where’s Von Holck?”

 

“He’s still missing, which is a problem, but not for the reasons you’d expect,” Wufei responded, giving her a significant look.  “That’s why Une needs to be here.  This investigation is going to end up public, and messy, and we only have about 2 hours until the deadline.  Hektor booked the kidnappers we captured, and Hilde and Vinny brought the women in.  Duo and I were along for technical support.”  He said the last meaningfully, and Sally met his in understanding, before turning to Relena and Dorothy to make sure they were on the same page.

 

Relena looked confused, but Dorothy nodded.  

 

At least one of them understood, and he felt confident Dorothy would be able to convince Relena of the importance of maintaining their cover.

 

Nodding shortly, he moved on.  

 

“The others will be joining us momentarily, and we can fill Une in when she arrives, but the most pressing matter is that Von Holck engineered this entire venture, and he is still in the wind. We have no idea where he is or where to begin looking.  We need to find out how the kidnappers made contact with him and see if that can be used to reel him in for pick up.”

 

Duo shrugged.  “We could ask the bad guys.”

 

“Why would they tell us?” Hektor argued, looking skeptical.

 

“Well, _Joker_ could ask them.”

 

“No.”  Wufei answered, immediately.  “He isn’t a Preventer.  He can’t ask them anything.  From here forward everything has to be above-board, because this is going to make its way into the court system.  We’re talking about the Foreign Minister, her attache, and the Minister of Security.”

 

Sally looked increasingly confused, but she offered, “What if we gave them some kind of deal?  A plea bargain?  Une would have to authorize it, but if we offered whoever rolled first some kind of reduction in charges, they might cooperate.”

 

Wufei nodded in agreement.  “How long before Une arrives?”  He turned as the door opened, hopefully, but it was Quatre and Heero, rather than their commanding officer.  Quatre was looking less manic than before, but not entirely unwound, either.  His gaze sharpened on Dorothy, again.  Heero pulled him off to the side, and they sat down by the wall.  

 

Trowa was evidently making himself scarce.

 

All the better, probably, as Une would likely recognize him anyway, and they hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his presence in the compound or on the mission.  Quatre and Heero could both be explained, as they’d been back written into the system as consultants after their ‘capture’.

 

“Maybe 15 more minutes,” Sally answered.

 

Wufei nodded in acknowledgement. “What do we know about Von Holck?”

 

Dorothy spoke up for the first time. “He was associated with Romefeller.  I don't know how deeply, but I saw him at several meetings with my grandfather.”

 

Everyone turned to look at her. “Why hasn't this come up sooner?” Sally finally ventured, brow furrowed.

 

“I didn't realize until last night, when he was casually discussing our deaths,” she sniffed.  “I never got a good look at him with Grandfather, only heard bits and pieces of their discussions.” Wufei took that to mean she’d been snooping, rather than an invited participant.  “I recognized his voice, and tone.  He sounds different when he’s playing the part of militant pacifist.”

 

Relena nodded in agreement.  “Yes, typically he’s got a bit of a pompous, snivelling attitude, it’s rather grating to listen to him drone on.  He sounded entirely different when he was giving our captors instructions.”

 

More thoughtful nods.  “Anything else we know about the man?”  Wufei questioned, in general.

 

Sally pulled out her laptop, calling up the Preventers’ relevant files.  “Erich Von Holck.  Fourty-four years old, wife Margarete, one son, Heinrich. He owns Biocan, the pharmaceutical research company. Originally from Bremen, currently a founding member of the ESUN council, has served two terms as the Minister of Security under President Lane.  Vocal pacifist.  We’ve never officially connected him to anything illegal, but there have been a few incidents with people working for him that had established connections to a shady practice or two.  Nothing we could even question him about, much less arrest him.”

 

Wufei sighed.  

 

“So he’s wealthy, well-connected, and owns a company known for its charity works and funding of public health research.  This isn’t a problem _at all_.”  Heero always had been excellent at summarization.

 

Une chose that moment to walk in. “Should I leave so we can have plausible deniability?”

 

Duo snorted quietly and Sally grinned at her. “No,” she drawled, “we need your authority to offer a plea bargain to some kidnappers so we can lock up Von Holck and throw away the key.”

 

Une looked surprisingly pleased. “Tell me you're serious. Tell me this isn't your idea of a joke.”

 

Sally shook her head, still grinning. “Serious as a heart attack.”

 

“I'll approve anything you want if I get to be the one to put the handcuffs on him.”

 

*

 

It turned out that the kidnappers had been receiving instructions via a burner cell that Trowa had had the foresight to grab with their weapons. Only one of them had been willing to talk about their boss, so once they had unearthed the phone in evidence storage, Hektor had gone in to talk to him.

 

Quatre had accompanied him on Duo’s suggestion, arguing that it was nearly impossible to lie to the blonde, and they'd get to the truth a lot faster.

 

Wufei had been wary of the idea, Quatre still twitchy and prone to erratic behavior, but under the time constraints he couldn't really argue the point.  It had proven surprisingly effective, however, as the blonde’s air of casual violence and menacing grin seemed to spur the man to greater cooperation with the law.

 

“Alright Kurtis,” Hektor started, tossing the phone on the table between them, pulling a chair out and making himself comfortable, “tell me again about the arrangement you had with your boss.”

 

The first part of the interrogation had covered the basics, which included Kurtis’ last name (Böhmer), his role in the group (low man on the totem pole), and how long he'd been working with them (less than a year). It also revealed how much he knew about the organization which, to put it mildly, was next to nothing. He didn't even know Von Holck’s name.

 

It was going to make prosecuting the man difficult if they didn't catch him.

 

Honestly, it might be difficult even if they did. Relena and Dorothy hadn't even seen him giving orders.

 

Wufei sighed again, watching the ‘interview’ through the one way glass.  Kurtis was stumbling his way through an explanation, Hektor listening impatiently and Quatre looking maliciously chipper in the corner.

 

Duo had been right though, it was a tremendously effective technique.  Quatre didn’t even have to _do_ anything.

 

They needed to get Trowa on the roster as well, as far as Wufei was concerned, because he was certain the other two knew enough to put Von Holck behind bars, and were involved enough to understand his reach, which is why they weren’t talking.  Wufei made a mental note to inform Une.

 

“So let me make sure I understand,”  Hektor said, after Kurtis finally wound down to the end of his story, “the boss was supposed to call you on this phone and tell you when to quote ‘get rid of’ the hostages.  That’s the whole plan?  And you don’t know anything about where he is, who he’s with, or what the plan was for the ransom?”

 

“Well,” stammered Kurtis, “he was supposed to call Andre, not me, but yeah.”

 

“Andre?  Is he one of the ones we brought back with you?”

 

“You mean in that van? No.  I dunno what you guys did with him.”

 

Wufei closed his eyes.  That meant Andre was one of the dead kidnappers.  Stupendous.

 

Hektor had obviously reached the same conclusion, brow furrowing thoughtfully.  “Andre isn’t here,” he began, nudging the phone more in Kurtis’ direction, “which means you’re going to need to take the call when it comes.”  They’d already made the arrangements for a fake ransom drop, it was just a matter of picking Von Holck up, hopefully with whoever he was working with.

 

Kurtis looked extremely alarmed at this prospect.  “What, uh, what am I supposed to say?”

 

“Whatever you need to so that he doesn’t suspect anything.  Tell him Andre is on patrol.  Tell him you’ll relay the message.  Ask him where he’s going to be dropped off.  I don’t know Kurtis, I’m sure you can think of something, unless you _want_ to disappear into some pit in the middle of nowhere, never to be seen again.”

 

Wufei could see the kidnappers throat work from here, as he swallowed in alarm.  He was a kid, comparatively speaking, though a couple of years older than the pilots.  He was the youngest man they’d picked up, and his lack of experience broadcasted in every decision he made.  

 

Quatre snorted in the corner, but kept his commentary to himself.  Wufei was grateful.  He didn’t have any more faith than the blonde pilot that Kurtis could pull this off, but he also didn’t have a better idea.

 

Unfortunately, they ran out of time to worry about it, because the phone rang.

 

Hektor hit accept, choosing the speakerphone option, and gave Kurtis a meaningful look.

 

“H- hello?”

 

“Who is this?”  Von Holck’s voice permeated the room, was captured by the interrogation recording system.

 

“It’s Kurtis, sir.”  He swallowed again, eyes flickering between the phone and Hektor.

 

“Where’s Andre?”

 

“He’s, um, he’s out on patrol.”

 

There was a weighted silence.  This was not going to work, Wufei suddenly realized, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.  He motioned at the tech across the room, who gave him a nod of acknowledgement, turning back to the computer.  They were going to try and triangulate a signal on the incoming call.  

“Let me speak with Nicolas.”

 

Kurtis looked positively wild at this point, eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead.  Hektor raised his eyebrows, gesturing towards the phone.

 

Even if Nicolas was one of the other two men, they couldn’t very well hand the phone off to him.

 

“He’s, ah, he’s… on patrol too?”

 

Wufei swiped a hand over his face.  Well.  That was the end of that.

 

Quatre pushed himself off the wall, angling closer to the table.  It didn’t help settle Kurtis’ nerves at all.  

 

They all waited, listening to the silence on the other end of the line.

 

After a few moments there was a low chuckle over the connection.  “Well, my boy, I can only assume that you are an esteemed guest of the Preventers at the moment.  You can let them know that I wish them much luck in catching me, seeing as how I’ve spent several years now removing their teeth one by one.  I doubt they have the resources or ability to come after at me.”

 

Kurtis swallowed hard, several times, while Hektor turned towards the mirrored glass for some sort of direction.  They were at a loss.

 

Except Quatre, who leaned both hands onto the table, angling his body so that his every word would be clearly heard by the listener on the other end.

 

“Oh no, Minister, it’s _much_ worse than that,” he purred.  “It isn’t the Preventers who have you in their line of sight.  It’s the Gundam Pilots.”

 

There was a garbled squawk from the other end of the line, and then the connection was cut.

 

Wufei turned to the tech, question dying on his lips when he saw the disappointed shake of her head.

 

Back to square one.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes:
> 
> Thank you, again, to ChronicWhimsy for her outstanding beta reading ablities!
> 
> I know literally nothing about satellite surveillance. 
> 
> I know some people ship the heck out of 4xD but I basically think he’d be pretty well pissed off about being stabbed, honestly. 
> 
> I know that in the current (American) justice system, the police aren’t authorized to offer plea bargains and the like – that’s up to the DA. But we’re bending the rules for the Preventers.
> 
> I also don’t know anything about triangulating cell phone signals. Well, a small bit, but not enough to fake it.


	12. Nightmare Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, Von Holck's dastardly plot is revealed!
> 
> Bonus: Hilde does dress shopping.

_Alienated by society, all this pressure give me anxiety_

_Walk slow through the fire_

_Like, who gon' try us?_

_Feeling the world go against us_

_So we put the world on our shoulders_

 

Sucker for Pain - Wiz Khalifa

* * *

 

 

Wufei knocked on Une’s office door.  Receiving permission to enter, he shut the door behind him, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.  

 

Turning from her computer screen, she peered up at him over readers perched on the end of her nose.

 

“Chang.”

 

He nodded in response.

 

“Why are you in my office?”  She looked suitably suspicious.  Historically, he’d only ever been in her office when he’d broken in, except the one time Sally had brought him.  Her eyes narrowed.  “What do you want?”

 

Clearly she was familiar with his methods.

 

He felt his lips quirk, but he was careful to keep it under wraps.  He had a serious reason for being here. “We have an… informant from the L3 crime syndicate here with information about Von Holck.  He’s requesting amnesty in exchange for full cooperation.”

 

“What kind of information?”

 

The kind that had sent Duo whirling out of the room, face pale and fists clenched, Wufei _didn’t_ say.  The kind that was likely to give him nightmares for months or weeks, that had stirred up the very worst of his memories, if Wufei hadn’t grossly misinterpreted the expression on his face. Une’s office was the very last place he wanted to be right now, he wanted, _needed_ , to go find Duo and make sure he was alright.

 

But Duo would be pissed at him for ‘babying’ him, and he had an obligation to the team and to the Earth sphere, and Duo’s emotional upheaval didn’t supercede it.  

 

Even if Wufei wanted it to.  

 

He pursed his lips.  “Von Holck has contacted the organization with an… offer.  The informant is ready to provide us with the details _and_ help us set up a meeting.”

 

“We’re sure the information is authentic?”

 

Considering the source… Wufei didn’t grin, but he felt the dark amusement curling through him.  It was the only remotely funny aspect of the situation.  “Positive.”

 

She pretended to ponder the question, but Wufei knew she was going to acquiesce.  After the disastrous attempt to capture Von Holck using the criminals he’d employed to stage his own kidnapping, the man had disappeared off the grid.  They’d not found a single trace of him anywhere, utilizing Preventers’ resources.  

 

And they had significantly more resources these days.  Une had gone to President Lane with Relena and Dorothy and they had quietly and confidentially explained the situation to him.  He’d given them some emergent funds and requested a budget increase from the council during an emergency hearing, which had been granted.

 

The irony was that they’d told no one else that Von Holck was behind the kidnapping, so they were using the kidnapping itself as an excuse.  Ostensibly, Von Holck was a missing person, presumed kidnapped by person or persons unknown, and Campbell Lane had given them carte blanche to utilize whatever means necessary to find him.

 

They’d had his friends and family in for questioning several times, his wife and teenaged son seeming bewildered by his disappearance, but could find no evidence that either of them were involved or aware of his suspicious activities.  

 

Preventers had designated a specialized task force charged with searching for Von Holck, and Vinny had been ‘transferred’ to head that team, though he still attended every meeting with Task Force X and kept them apprised of the progress they (weren’t) making.  Andreau was in deep cover in an arms smuggling organization known to be associated with Von Holck, in the hopes of uncovering information leading to his whereabouts.  Only the Task Force, Une, and Sally officially knew the truth about the kidnapping, and they were trying to keep it that way.  It was possible, and in fact, _likely_ that Von Holck had an informant inside the organization, so they didn’t want him to be forewarned.  Especially as Quatre had diverted his attention.  

 

As the days and weeks passed, Wufei had begun to admit that some other methods of the less savory variety were required.  And anyway, Von Holck already knew the Gundam Pilots were looking for him.  They might as well do so.

 

Heero had gone back to his computer business cover, attempting to ferret him out using his previous financial methods, checking in at headquarters periodically, and attending weekly briefings.  

 

Trowa and Quatre had gone back to L3 several times, Wufei _very carefully_ not asking what exactly they were doing there, but he suspected they were putting out feelers using their… organization… to see if they could locate the slimey former Minister.

 

It was this avenue that had paid off.

 

“Very well,” Une conceded with a nod, “I’ll authorize amnesty for past criminal transgressions, providing that his information leads to tying Von Holck directly to an imprisonable criminal offense.”

 

Wufei almost smiled.  It was clear she thought she was cutting out any loopholes Wufei might have exploited.  

 

Turning back to the door, he opened it and motioned the tall man waiting outside to come in.

 

“Trowa Barton?!”

 

Wufei did so enjoy surprising his boss.

 

*

 

Une was, well, disgruntled wasn’t the right word, but she couldn’t really come up with a better one.  When Sally had first shown up in her office, Chang in tow, and then she’d heard him talking to Schbeiker about Maxwell, she’d toyed with the idea of having all five former Gundam pilots under her command.  It was an intoxicating thought, knowing firsthand exactly how they were force to be reckoned with.  Any of them being a possible newtype was an added, unexpected bonus, even if she hadn’t received actual confirmation of the fact.  When they’d picked up Yuy, and then Winner, she’d started to realize that maybe it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

 

They were all, every one, manic and unpredictable, prone to violent resolutions, and possessed a complete disregard for any kind of authority.  Only Maxwell was even remotely personable, though if her old intelligence was correct, Winner _had_ been perfectly polite and reasonable before he shot up your base, until the Zero incident, anyway.  They were loyal to each other, first and foremost, rather than any organization or ideal, something she was just starting to understand.

 

The words ‘be careful what you wish for’ were starting to carry a lot of personal recrimination.

 

Then her former attache had shown up, apparently a high-ranking member of a large criminal syndicate, and when it turned out he was the missing pilot, she realized how ridiculously outmaneuvered she’d been.

 

It was, frankly, a miracle they’d lasted as long as they had in the war, what with all of them infiltrating her army and blowing up her bases.  She couldn’t decide if Treize would be infuriated or entertained.

 

Looking at the smirk on Barton’s face, she went with entertained.  He’d always enjoyed a good chess match.

 

They were currently ensconced in one of the classified brief rooms, Maxwell and Chang sitting shoulder to shoulder against the back wall, Barton connecting his laptop to the room’s projector.  Sally had gone to find Geary on Chang’s insistence, and Schbeiker and Fonseca were on either side of the same table Une was sitting at, waiting patiently.  Andreau was on assignment, if she recalled correctly.

 

Maxwell looked grim and disheveled, fists clenched in his lap.  He looked up as the door opened, tense, then relaxing minutely when Yuy arrived with Winner.  Yuy was his typically stoic self, but Winner seemed subdued and worried, rather than the somewhat malevolent cheer he typically exuded.

 

Clearly the five of them had shared the information amongst themselves before they’d come to her.  Une rolled her eyes.

 

If she’d known how problematic babysitting Gundam Pilots was going to be, she probably would have thrown Sally out of her office when she’d suggested recruiting Chang in the first place.

 

Speaking of Sally, she breezed in with Dr. Geary trailing along behind her, lab coat rolled to the elbows and safety goggles perched, apparently forgotten, on his head. He glanced around at the unusually large group, noting Une’s presence, and rubbed his hands together, cackling.  

 

“Oh finally, something _interesting_ is going on!”

 

Maxwell’s face contorted into something that gave even her pause, opening his mouth to speak, but Chang reached out, wrapping his fingers around the other man’s wrist, and he subsided, looking mutinous.  

 

Speaking of interesting...  Une watched the two of them speculatively.  

 

Chang noticed her scrutiny, turning a narrow eyed gaze on her, a challenge on his face.

 

She decided she didn’t want to know.

 

Barton cleared his throat, and the room lights dimmed, the projector flipping on.  “Two hours ago I received a packaged message which included a video attachment, offering exclusive possession of a bauble that was unavailable anywhere else.  Presumably, the same message was sent to several other criminal organizations, given the nature of the offer.”

 

The message appeared, exactly as described, along with instructions for an online auction taking place in 48 hours.

 

“A bauble?” Une questioned.

 

“It’s industry slang for a weapon,” Winner supplied, quietly, from his corner.

 

Une frowned.  It was entirely unlike the blonde man she’d gotten to know over the last few months to be so subdued.  “What kind of weapon?”

 

“That’s what the video is for,” Barton answered, opening the attachment.

 

Across the room, Maxwell closed his eyes, clenching Chang’s hand.

 

The video was brief, only twenty seconds or so, but horrific.  It was the final moments of a dying man’s life.  

 

“The L2 plague,” Maxwell croaked out in explanation.

 

There was a long beat of silence.

 

“Are we,” Une cleared her throat, uncomfortably, “are we certain it’s being peddled by Von Holck?”

 

“I traced the message back to a small, well-hidden lab owned by Biocan, on a research satellite in the L3 cluster.  X18999.”  Heero’s nasal voice answered her.

 

She nodded, turning to Geary.  “And is it the L2 plague, Doctor?”

 

Even he appeared undone after the display.  “It has all the hallmarks of YO-448, which was the virus that caused the plague, though it wasn’t one in the technical sense.”

 

Sally paled.  “YO-448?”

 

Une turned to her, raising her eyebrows, but Geary wasn’t done.

 

“YO-448 was a genetically engineered Hantavirus.  The other doctors and myself studied it at length after the L2 exposure.  We believed it to be developed as a biological cleansing agent - it causes Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome.  It presents with flu-like symptoms but can rapidly progress to fatal lung disease, often despite intervention.  It had a 36% mortality rate on L2.  A vaccine was developed but not distributed to the… less fortunate parts of the colony.”

 

Maxwell snorted.  Geary ignored him.

 

“Our collective opinion was that L2 was a test, and probably an unsuccessful one.”

 

“What?!”  Schbeiker looked enraged, her face as righteously indignant as Maxwell’s had been when Geary had arrived.  “It was pretty goddamn successful from where we were sitting on-colony _Doctor_.”

 

He eyed her dismissively.  “Yes, it was a very deadly disease, but from a bio-weapon standpoint, not effective enough.  It wasn’t as contagious as a weaponized viral agent should be, and not everyone developed the pulmonary symptoms that eventually killed the victims.  We watched for other testing grounds, but none were identified.”

 

Sally cleared her throat, still pale and shaky.  “There was… another.”

 

Everyone turned to her expectantly.  She opened her mouth.  Paused.  Closed it, shaking her head.  Took a deep breath.  “There was another _planned_ test.  Just before the Gundams appeared,” she nodded towards the pilots, “the Alliance and Oz attacked a colony, intending, by all appearances, to wipe it out.”

 

Chang’s face paled.  He was probably gripping Maxwell’s hand as hard as he’d been gripped earlier.

 

Sally glanced at him, nodding.  “A0206, yes.  But the attack was a distraction.  I was ordered by Septum to infect the colony with the same virus. I didn’t!” She added the last hastily, seeing the look on Chang’s face, “but I let him believe I did.  No one was going to land on-colony to verify, after all! After that I left the Alliance to join the rebels in China.  And then the colony… well…” she trailed off.

 

They all knew what had happened to Chang’s home colony.

 

“But the intent was to ‘sanitize’ the colony with YO-448.  I assume it had been modified after L2 if what Dr. Geary says is true.”

 

Une sighed.  This was a worst case scenario situation.  “Ok.  Thoughts?”

 

“Seems obvious, doesn't it?”  Winner looked thoughtful, eyes unfocused.  “Bid on the bauble.  Win, clearly.  Meet Von Holck for pick up and destroy the lab.”

 

He made it sound so simple.  “Where are we supposed to get the funds to even _compete_ ,” Une asked, sarcastically, “not to mention not tipping Von Holck off.  Who would do the bidding?”

 

Winner focused on her face, smirking, putting her in mind of a shark.  “Well, Director, I suggest you speak to the President, though I’m sure we can… manage… to find some funds.”  At this, Heero’s smirk rose to meet Winner’s in bloodthirsty anticipation.  “As far as the bidding, well, we do have the Joker at our disposal.”

 

She turned to look at Trowa, groaning as the implication became clear.

 

She’d effectively pardoned a mob boss.

 

She hoped the President never found out about this.  

 

“Actually…” the blonde man said, consideringly, “that may be the biggest issue.  The Joker isn’t known for an interest in this sort of thing.  I wonder if it was sent as a courtesy.  It may look suspicious if we bid on it.”

 

“Can’t we bid anonymously?” Une asked.

 

Barton answered her.  “No.  They’ll just back out of the auction and disappear.”  He grinned.  “It’s a good thing I’ve put it about that my lover was picked up by the authorities and I’m extremely displeased about it.  I’ve never been very… rational… where he’s concerned.  I’m certain that if I can acquire this bauble, the government will be more than willing to negotiate his release.”

 

Une rubbed her temples, eyes closed, imagining all the ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong.  Standing, she gathered her items and moved towards the door, everyone looking at her in confusion.  “I’m leaving before I implicate myself in some kind of illegal activity.  I’d like to be able to sit in a witness stand and tell the truth - I had no idea about any of it.”  Pausing at the door, she turned back to the men and women assembled in the room and said, dryly, “I’m assigning you to save the world.  Seeing as you’ve already done it once, I trust you can handle it again.”

 

*

 

They won the auction.

 

Une convinced the President and Foreign Minister of the cruciality of the plan, and they'd both helped to fund the acquisition, convincing a prominent private bank to sponsor the bidding.  Additionally, Heero had quietly skimmed funds off of Von Holck’s own numerous personal and corporate accounts, the irony seeming to amuse him, transferring it to the account Trowa set up just for this purpose.

 

They'd actually had money left over when it was all said and done.

 

Now they were just waiting on exchange instructions.

 

Duo had been quietly withdrawn through all of it.  He was barely eating, not sleeping much, and what sleep he was getting was punctuated by nightmares so violent Wufei had been literally knocked out of bed on two separate occasions, and he had at least a half dozen new bruises courtesy of flailing limbs.

 

Wufei was growing concerned, but he hadn’t the faintest clue what to do about it.  Duo wasn’t talking to him about anything, really, and brushed off any attempts Wufei made to force the issue.

 

And honestly, he wasn’t sure it was his place to do so.  

 

Their relationship wasn’t clearly defined, at least not in words, and this was the first time Wufei had felt the lack.  They were exclusively together, protective and possessive of one another, and Wufei spent most nights in Duo’s quarters.  The sex was amazing.  Well, it had been before the damn message from Von Holck, anyway.

 

They just never had a conversation about it.  They didn’t discuss it.  It just existed.  It had been fine, before, both of them content with the status quo, but now Wufei wasn’t sure if he should be doing something else under the circumstances. Either as a teammate or… a boyfriend?  The word didn’t really do the complexity of their relationship justice, but he couldn’t think of a better one either.

 

It didn’t seem like a good time to bring it up, with Duo so clearly off-balance, and Wufei just trying to be supportive.  

 

But he was also starting to be apprehensive that Duo wasn’t going to be mission-ready.

 

Of course, saying that to the braided pilot might cost him a limb.

 

Not to mention Wufei’s own mixed bag of feelings regarding Sally’s revelations.  Neither of them was very good company at the moment, nor did they historically have a good track record for communicating their feelings.  Wufei snorted.  Now there was an understatement.  Duo hid everything behind a jokester’s persona and Wufei practically used hot rage as rocket fuel.

 

Before he could come to any conclusions about what to do, if anything, Trowa received a message regarding their newly-acquired viral apocalypse nightmare package.

 

*

 

Hilde eyed the garment bag Wufei was holding with distaste.  

 

The exchange of money for merchandise was taking place at an orchestral performance on L3 in a few days, Von Holck promising to deliver the goods himself because Trowa had refused outright to deal with an underling.  Trowa was going for obvious reasons.  Hilde was to accompany him, being that she, it turned out, had been vaccinated on L2, and Quatre couldn’t very well go.  She was the fail-safe, in case everything went disastrously wrong.  Which was fine.

 

The problem, from Hilde’s perspective, was that the performance was an extremely exclusive, black tie event.

 

Which meant a _dress_.

 

She didn’t own any dresses.  Definitely she didn’t own any dresses that were appropriate for the sort of event she was going to.  Accepting the bag from Wufei with a sigh, she hung it on the back of the conference room door and unzipped it.  Layers of navy blue silk tumbled out of the bottom, attached to a strapless bodice.  It was gorgeous.

 

She hated it.

 

Whirling on Wufei, she demanded, “Who picked this out? Were they _high_?”

 

He looked startled, holding his hands up placatingly.  “Winner assured me it was perfectly appropriate for the theatre…”

 

“Oh it must be **so** nice to be a man.  You can just wear a tux.  It can hide any number of weapons, and you can _move_ in it, and you get to wear normal shoes!”  She snatched the dress out of the bag, holding it up for Wufei’s perusal.  “And just _where_ pray tell, am I supposed to hide weapons in this?  As a matter of fact, how am I supposed to _breathe_ in it? Or _walk_?!”

 

The bodice was, clearly, extremely fitted, all the way to the hip, with several layers of ruffled silk and a train.  She spared a moment to wonder who had figured out what size she wore, because it looked like a perfect fit.

 

Assuming she’d be caught dead in it.

 

Which is how she’d end up if anything went wrong on this op if she went on it wearing the damn dress they'd gotten for her.

 

Men.

 

“Do I even want to see the shoes?” she asked sardonically.  The look on his face told her everything she needed to know.  “Nevermind.”

 

Stuffing the dress back into the bag - but carefully, she was disgruntled but she also didn’t want to be stuck _paying_ for the damn thing if it got damaged - she thrust it at Wufei, who scrambled to take it from her without dropping it.

 

“Take it back.  I’ll find a damn dress.  Jesus.”  She didn’t quite stomp out of the room, but it was only through sheer force of will.

 

Behind her she heard the muttered ‘women’ that slipped past his lips at her behavior.

 

“I heard that!”

 

*

 

Duo knew he was being unreasonable.  Hell, he’d spent his whole life being stubborn and unreasonable; that’s why they’d let him pilot a gundam.  

 

But Wufei hadn’t done anything to deserve his obstinate behavior and it was clear the other man was worried and frustrated.  Unfortunately, Duo wasn’t really in the headspace to do a whole lot about it.  He glanced over at Wufei, sitting across the table from him, both of them looking over the bare amount of information they’d been able to acquire about the lab on L3.  They boarded the shuttle tomorrow, the plan to time the destruction of the Biocan lab with the virus handoff on the main colony in two days.  Wufei would be on an orbiting shuttle, available by com for both teams, but out of physical proximity.  Geary had speculated, based on Sally’s information, that the virus may have been tweaked specifically for L5, possibly making Wufei particularly susceptible to it.

 

Duo and Heero had the unenviable task of destroying the lab and any samples therein, because Duo had already proven himself immune to the virus, and because Heero was the next most likely candidate to be unaffected, besides Hilde.  They had come up with a pretty solid plan, and Duo and Heero had always worked well together during the war - well Duo had always worked well with Heero, who worked _with_ no-one - so he felt fairly confident about the whole thing.

 

But Wufei had still gathered up all of the mission specs and, essentially, brought them home to review himself, one last time.

 

Duo chewed on his lip as he pondered the implications.  He couldn't think of a single other instance where Wufei had done such a thing.

 

It was… weirdly touching.

 

He tried not to dwell on that, or what it probably said about his own erratic behavior as of late.

 

Stretching his arm across the table, he slid his fingers in between Wufei’s lax ones, pressing their palms together, and squeezed. “Hey.”

 

Dark eyes looked up to meet his, a question on his face.

 

“Sorry.”

 

Wufei’s brows drew together in confusion.  “For what?”

 

“Me?  This?  Everything?” Duo sighed.  “I know I’m not handlin’ this all that great.  And I know you’re worried.”

 

Wufei squeezed his hand, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his, soothing.  Shrugging slightly, he quirked a grin at Duo.  “Well, I do think ordering a cardboard cutout of Heero and using it for target practice was a little over the top.”

 

Duo snorted.  “Well he shouldn’ta opened his big fat mouth and said what he did.”  Heero’d eventually gotten fed up with Duo’s mopey behavior, decided to basically beat it out of him, goading the taller man into sparring sessions intended to give him an outlet.  After a particularly brutal session, however, that did nothing to ease Duo’s mood but had added to Heero’s growing collection of bruises, he had finally told the braided man to work his frustrations out in the bedroom with Wufei because he was tired of being a human punching bag.  

 

Only he’d used more colorful language.

 

Even Duo had blushed.  

 

He ran a hand through his bangs.  “Look, I’m gonna be fine, alright? And the mission is gonna be fine, too, so you can stop worryin’ about it.”  He stood up, tugging on their joined hands.  “Come to bed and let me distract you,” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

 

Wufei huffed a laugh, but got up to follow, tossing his glasses on the table with the paperwork.

 

Their joining was slow, and affectionate, and imbued with a wealth of feelings and words that went unspoken by either of them, entirely unlike their usual encounters, and when Wufei came, eyelids fluttering, Duo’s name on his lips, the braided man felt his chest squeeze uncomfortably.

 

Afterwards, Wufei dropped off to sleep almost immediately, but Duo lay awake for a long time, fingers sifting through ink-dark hair, carefully not thinking about what that meant.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so about this plague. YO-448 is taken directly from Episode Zero, and it IS the virus that Sally is ordered by Septum to infect Wufei’s colony with. She doesn’t do it, obviously. They’re never clear on what kind of germ warfare it is, and I’ve taken a LOT of liberties here by tying it to the L2 plague and making it a biological weapon. Episode Zero is never very clear about what, exactly, the plague symptoms were, so I did bastardized some current medical theory to give you these details. Hantavirus is a real thing. HPS – hantavirus pulmonary syndrome is a real, and really deadly, complication of hantavirus. It’s not currently airborne, but it would be a scary thing if it were. So most of the medical details, including the 36% mortality rate for HPS, are true. 
> 
> Blame Maevemauvaise ENTIRELY for the addition of a fancy party dress. And if you haven’t seen her art, please PLEASE check it out: http://maevemauvaise.tumblr.com/post/163008966351/kangofu-cb-okay-so-here-hilde-is-only-a-week


	13. I'm No Messiah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a fancy party, Shinigami shows up, and we're capturing bad guys left and right, what's not to love here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many, many thanks to Maevemauvaise who inspired the entire fancy party and Hilde's dress. If you haven't seen her art, please, please go look at it and give her some love.
> 
> This chapter is probably one of my favorites of the entire fic. I get to showcase a lot of characters here, but also, we get a fantastic glimpse into Duo's state of mind.

_You can take all I've got 'til I'm skin and bone_

_I don't want control, I can dig my own hole_

_I can make my bed and I can lie in it cold_

_'Cause I don't need heat, I've been burnin' in hell_

_But now I'm back with my own story to tell_

_Back from the edge_

_Back from the dead_

_Back before demons took control of my head_

_  
_ Back from the Edge - James Arthur

* * *

 

Hilde had been ‘accompanying’ Trowa at the theatre for the last hour, behaving as nothing more than expensive eye candy, and she was absolutely, completely _bored out of her mind_.  Their planned rendezvous wasn’t for another half an hour, but they’d arrived at the beginning of the performance for appearances’ sake.  

 

Apparently, a live orchestra just wasn’t her thing.

 

Trowa had smirked knowingly at her the third time she’d covered her mouth to hide a yawn.  He’d leaned in, lips next to her ear, looking for all intents and purposes like an amorous lover, and murmured, “I don’t think I’m getting my money’s worth out of this date.”

 

She’d given a very unladylike snort before muttering back, “Are you angling to find out what’s under my skirt?”  Then she’d pressed her thigh, outfitted with her backup sidearm, barely hidden by her dress, against his leg.  She felt the vibration of his laughter before he leaned back, a look of relaxed amusement etched permanently on his face.  She envied how easily he assumed roles, like a chameleon.  Hilde could do undercover work, had done before, in fact, but Trowa didn’t just play act to make his cover believable, he melted into the required persona, with no hint that he’d ever been anything else.  It was simultaneously impressive and unnerving.  

 

She tugged the edge of her dress back into place, carefully keeping the firearm concealed, and sighed.  Shopping for the damn dress had been an experience of painfully epic proportions that she never wanted to repeat.  She wasn’t cut out for shopping.  Or the mall.  She’d finally settled on something with black lace and a fitted bodice, the skirt cut high in the front so that she could use her legs.  It wasn’t comfortable, but it was manageable, and given the selection, that would have to do.

 

Of course, then she’d had to buy shoes.

 

She eyed the strappy, black torture devices on her feet.  Truthfully, she liked them a little bit.  Mostly, she’d enjoyed the looks on the saleswoman’s face when she’d tried them out by performing a variety of high kicks and seeing which ones she could maintain her balance in.

 

Finally, _finally_ it was intermission, which meant it was time to get the party started.

 

As they stood to exit the theatre, Trowa’s arm wrapped around her back, hand splayed possessively at the base of her spine.  She leaned into him and he stopped, green eyes still visibly amused. Trailing her hands up his chest she still had to rise up on her toes, despite the high heels, to whisper in his ear.

 

“Won’t people wonder why you’re with me, when it’s evidently common knowledge that you and Quatre are together?”  The question had been nagging at her as soon as the plan had been suggested.  They were using his relationship with Quatre to justify the weapon purchase, and here Trowa was, showing up with a woman at his side.  She’d tried suggesting she go as his bodyguard, and he’d snorted, remarking that it was well known that he was his _own_ bodyguard, and had proved it on more than one occasion.  The same, apparently, was true for Quatre.  She’d been disgruntled to have her plan foiled so easily, and she was even more disgruntled now, playing a brainless pretty girl at his side.

 

He chuckled, reaching up to take the hand on his lapel, bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss, eyeing her over her knuckles.  “It’s also common knowledge that we have an… adventurous relationship, and that we’re… free with our affection.  You wouldn’t be the first beautiful woman we’ve taken to the theatre.” He smirked at the blush rising to her face. “Though, typically, all three of us would be in attendance together.”  He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her sedately out to the bar, whilst she struggled to get the fire in her face back under control.

 

That would teach her to ask questions she didn’t actually want to know the answer to.

 

*

 

Duo and Heero were crouched outside the fence surrounding the lab, waiting on a go signal from Wufei, watching the perimeter.  

 

The building was a squat, one story cement affair, with the exception of a glass-front lobby area, composed almost entirely of laboratory and research space and a few offices.  Judging by what they’d been able to see of the exterior, it didn’t appear that there had been any major structural changes compared to the official colony documents.   Heero had pointed out that the lab was officially listed as a viral research center, and since that’s technically what they were doing, and therefore subject to government inspection, it was unlikely anything would deviate from the plans.

 

So far he’d been right, as there was no sign that the whole thing wouldn’t be an easy bang and burn, especially given that they’d only noticed one guard patrolling the grounds outside, whose route only brought him to the side of the building they were on every twelve to fourteen minutes.  Heero hadn’t moved in a long time, perfectly comfortable stretched out in the shadows.  Duo was feeling more anxious and impatient than Heero looked, but he’d managed to contain the manic energy for the entire evening, not even fidgeting as he watched the compound through his goggles.  They’d already snipped strategic parts of the chain link fence so they wouldn’t have to waste time on it later, just push their way through the compromised barrier.

 

His earpiece crackled, Wufei’s voice coming over the radio, slightly garbled by the distance, the other man tucked away in a shuttle hovering midway between the main colony and the small piece of shit resource colony Duo and Heero were on.  “Joker and Spectre have made contact with Von Holck.  Standby for operation commencement.”

 

Duo was suddenly, viscerally grateful that he was off colony, the vacuum of space protecting him from whatever horrible shit they’d cooked up in the small, unassuming building 200 yards in front of him.

 

He had a feeling it was infinitely worse than they’d seen so far.

 

*

 

“Surely you haven’t replaced your usual companion so quickly.”

 

Hilde and Trowa spun smoothly to face the speaker, and she found herself face to face with Von Holck, though he’d clearly made some changes to his appearance for the sake of going into hiding.  Gone were the glasses and mousy mustache he usually sported, and he’d done something to give himself the appearance of more hair, and lightened it as well, but it was definitely him.

 

Trowa’s fingers trailed over her bare shoulder, giving her a slight shiver, and she smirked at the other man.  She wasn’t sure how to play this, so he had better give her some kind of hint.

 

“Of course not,” he allowed, smile playing on the edge of his lips, “but even I get bored, and he’ll appreciate our… reception, when he returns, I’m sure.”  Hilde leaned further into his embrace, preening.  

 

“Ah,”  Von Holck looked her over admiringly, and she was suddenly grateful she’d never had the occasion to meet him in person before, “a welcome home gift.”

 

Trowa simply nodded once in response.

 

“Well, shall we find somewhere private to conduct our… business?  There is only a short time left in the intermission, after all, and I’d hate to keep you from your evening’s entertainment for too long.”  He glanced meaningfully at Hilde.

 

Trowa gestured broadly for Von Holck to lead the way.

 

They followed him to a small sitting room off of the main lobby, empty except for two small formal sofas with a low rise table between them.  Out of her peripherals, Hilde counted three men breaking off from the crowd, surreptitiously following them.  She tapped the inside of Trowa’s arm three times.  Lifting his hand to cover hers in the crook of his elbow, he tapped back four.

 

When she raised her eyebrows at him, he shifted his eyes to the side.  Following his gaze she spotted a woman paying them just a bit too much attention.  Hilde’s smile edged towards shark-like in response.  Sure enough, as Von Holck was motioning them into the room, the tall blonde glided over to slide her arm through his, a locked case in her hand.

 

“Darling!  I’ve been looking all over for you.”  She leaned in to kiss his cheek, just an inch or so taller than Von Holck, and Hilde caught the glitter of brown eyes underneath her dark lashes, watching them.  The woman was wearing a long purple gown with a high waisted, beaded bodice, and, Hilde noted, a seemingly never-ending slit.  

 

All the better to kick someone’s ass in, if Hilde had to take a guess, based on her own shopping experience.

 

Oh this was gonna be _fun_.

 

Inside the room, Von Holck locked the door behind them, and settled across from Trowa on the opposite sofa, the silver case between them, Trowa removing an electronic tablet from within his jacket.  Hilde perched on the arm of the sofa Trowa had chosen, conveniently putting their backs to the wall, and placing her between Von Holck and a quick exit.

  


Von Holck’s new girlfriend - and Hilde was toying with the amusing idea of sending his wife a photo - leaned over the table, keying a lock code into the case, and spun it around for Trowa and Hilde to peruse at their leisure.  Inside were six slim metal canisters that reminded Hilde of perfume atomizers and one glass medicine vial.

 

Trowa looked it over nonchalantly, no hint of emotion on his face.  He drummed his fingers on the table lightly, in thought.  “What am I looking at?”  He finally queried, one eyebrow raised.

 

Von Holck smiled, clearly pleased with himself.  “The canisters contain an aerosolized, highly concentrated dose of YO-448, which you may be familiar with as the infamous L2 plague, but modified to be more contagious and significantly more deadly. One canister could easily start a pandemic, just by releasing it in, say, a shuttleport, or an amusement park. The vial is the vaccine, enough doses for approximately fifty people.  Exactly as agreed.”

 

Trowa nodded, looking grim.  He picked up the tablet, keying in the passcode.  After a moment he held it out to Von Holck expectantly.  “This is a Swiss bank account with the funds we discussed.  You can see the totals there.  Choose a password for the account and ownership transfers to you.”

 

Von Holck took the tablet in barely contained anticipation, pausing before he keyed in a series of numbers and letters.  After a few moments, he grinned up at the blonde woman, clearly pleased.  She snapped the case shut decisively and slid it over toward Trowa.  He nodded at Hilde.

 

She smiled, anticipation rushing through her, and stood, taking half a second to ensure her balance in the heels.  She lifted the case gingerly, turning to slide it protectively into the corner of the sofa, before she whirled around, lashing out with her leg and catching the unprepared blonde under the chin.  Bending her leg at the knee she used her momentum to drag the woman to the ground by her neck, following her down.  Both women landed heavily on their backs, and Hilde locked her leg in place using her other thigh, applying pressure.  The blonde bucked, struggling, unable to make a sound, slapping effortlessly at Hilde’s legs as the blood supply to her brain was cut off.  Less than five seconds later she was still and limp, Hilde rising quickly to secure her arms and feet with zip ties she’d tucked into her thigh holster with the gun, trusting that Trowa was handling his side of things.

 

Looking up from where she was rolling their prisoner onto her left side in case she woke up sick, she found Trowa securing a bloodied Von Holck similarly.  The man appeared to have been knocked completely unconscious, blood trickling sluggishly from his probably-broken nose, already getting tacky on his skin.

 

The whole thing had taken less than two minutes, and neither Von Holck nor his escort had managed to make a sound.

 

She grinned at Trowa, adrenaline thumping through her veins, hardly sated by the short scuffle she’d had with the case-carrying blonde.  “What about the three amigos outside?”

 

He quirked a grin at her, propping Von Holck up against corner of the sofa so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood.  He looked her up and down speculatively.  “Do you think you can… _convince_ them to come in?”

 

Fluffing her skirt and smoothing her hair back into place she felt her lips curving into something more intrigue and less bloodthirsty mercenary.  “Want to make a bet on it?”

 

*

 

Wufei’s voice crackled in his ear again.

 

“Bravo Team, you are cleared for mission go, repeat, mission is a go.”

 

“Copy.”  

 

They waited, counting down, for the guard to reappear and continue on his patrol.  As soon as he rounded the corner, Duo and Heero darted through the fencing, crouched low, to the unobtrusive side door they had identified as their entrance.  The plans indicated that it opened onto a small hallway off the main lobby where nothing of any importance was located, and they were counting on that to help them maintain their secrecy.  Heero had been confident they wouldn’t encounter much resistance, and Duo was hoping he was right.

 

Duo knelt in front of the door, prising off the lock cover, as Heero turned around to guard his back.  It took bare seconds for him to override the locking mechanism, then he tacked the cover back on and turned the handle silently.  Standing, he tapped Heero’s arm, and they were moving swiftly, sliding through the minimal opening into the dark building, weapons ready.

 

Inside it was pitch black, but that did nothing to hinder them, considering the gear they routinely carried.  In addition to the night vision goggles and their usual weapons, both were each carrying a pack of small, high intensity explosives, and a small digital camera.  The plan was to split up and each cover half of the compound, planting strategic explosives and taking photos of anything incriminating.  Une wasn’t planning to bring this lab into evidence, preferring to eliminate any source of the virus instead and prosecute Von Holck for his other actions, but she wanted photographic evidence, just in case it all went pear shaped.

 

They split up into pre-arranged paths, Duo headed for the north side of the building where most of the labs were located, Heero for the opposite side, which was mostly offices according to the blueprints.  It hadn’t been discussed, but this was a mostly-useless precautionary measure, since if the virus got out, Heero was likely to be just as exposed as Duo, being in the same building.  But it had made Duo feel better to assign it that way, and Heero hadn’t argued, though he’d given him a speculative look.

 

Twenty minutes into their mission, everything going according to plan, Duo noticed a strip of light under a doorway.  He radioed out again.

 

“Possible hostile in one of the offices near the main lab.”

 

“Do not engage.  Continue with mission parameters.”

 

Duo rolled his eyes.  “I’m not going to torch a janitor working the late shift.  I’ll be careful.” He ignored Wufei’s terse response.

 

He’d had enough civilian casualties in the war to last a lifetime.  Flipping his night vision goggles up, propping them on top of his head, he stared at the light shining under the door as his eyes adjusted. Reaching for the handle, he eased the door open slowly, leading with his weapon, entering on silent feet.  

 

Sat behind a large desk in the middle of the room, an aging man was absorbed in a stack of paperwork in front of him, sleeves rolled up, leaning his head in his hands.  There was a white lab coat hung on the back of his chair.  Duo quickly scanned the rest of the room for anyone else, but the man appeared entirely alone, and Duo didn’t see any readily available hiding places.  

 

He called out softly, trying to avoid startling the man more than necessary.  “Working late, doc?”

 

The man jumped badly, anyway, not that Duo had expected anything different.  The doctor, if that’s what he was, looked up, taking in Duo’s all black tactical gear and the handgun pointed at his head.  Swallowing roughly, he dropped his hands from his head to the desk, fingers twitching reflexively.  

 

“No sudden moves now, doc. What’s your name?”

 

The other man looked almost calculating, but he answered the question readily enough.  “Johann Ichii.”

 

Duo relayed the information to Wufei and waited, gun still sighted between watchful brown eyes.  A moment later Wufei’s voice came back through his earpiece, tight and controlled, and Duo knew then that the information wasn’t good.

 

“Dr. Johann Ichii.  He’s listed in Biocan’s records as the senior virologist in the L3 sector, and he’s possibly the most accomplished virologist in their employ, from what I can tell.  He directs the entire facility.”

 

Which meant there was no way he didn’t know exactly what they’d developed in this research lab to unleash on the rest of the Earth Sphere.

 

Duo was instantly both ice cold and searing hot.  The detached sense of destruction that had carried him through the worst missions of the war was climbing up his spine, his entire being focused on the harmless looking scientist in front of him. His own personal demon of death whispered across his mind as he realized he was looking at the man who was directly responsible for Solo’s death.  Not to mention countless others.  He shuddered, but the gun never wavered.

 

He could hear Wufei and Heero’s voices in his earpiece, but the words didn’t make sense.  Duo reached up and yanked the receiver out of his ear, leaving it to dangle from the edge of his collar.  The sharp grin that had alway hallmarked the arrival of Shinigami stretched across his face like a rictus.

 

Ichii was starting to look nervous.

 

Good.

 

A few gliding steps forward and he was across the room, within grabbing distance of the good doctor, and a part of him _wished_ the mad scientist would reach for him, give him an excuse, but he sat perfectly still, sweat beading on his upper lip.  Duo reached out with a free hand and grabbed the back of the rolling office chair, roughly pulling Ichii away from the desk and anything he might think to reach for.  The other man had a white-knuckled grip on the armrests when Duo was through, breath whistling through his nose.  

 

Duo watched him for a moment, before coming to a decision.  He holstered the pistol, pulling zip ties out of his utility pocket.  “No sudden moves.  I don’t need a gun to kill you.”  Receiving a nod in response, he set about restraining the doctor to his office chair by his wrists and ankles.  

 

Stepping back, Duo stared at him in silence, contemplating his next steps.  

 

Mostly he was trying to convince himself he didn’t need to leave the guy there, awake and aware, as the whole compound went up in flames.  Duo could even start the fire in this very office.  The idea was very, very tempting.  He knew Wufei wouldn’t blame him for it.

 

He’d be disappointed though.

 

Duo thought about their last face to face, only a little more than a day ago, when the Chinese man had pushed him into the wall of the armory just before his shuttle flight, and given him a hard, rough kiss.  He’d leaned back, tightness around his eyes, and stared at Duo, searchingly, like he was memorizing his face, before he’d admonished him to stay safe and stomped out of the armory, thoroughly disgruntled.  Duo’d laughed like a loon after him, because he recognized concern when he saw it.

 

Wufei would definitely be disappointed if Duo just torched the guy.

 

And Duo himself would probably regret it later.  Maybe.  Possibly.  

 

He leaned against the edge of the desk, hip cocked, arms crossed.  Coming to a decision, he stared at the doctor.  “Tell me everything you know about YO-448 and Von Holck.”

 

Ichii sputtered, denial on his lips, and Duo rolled his eyes.  He picked up a piece of paper from the desktop, not even bothering to determine what it was and held it up speculatively.  “Dr. Ichii.”   The other man stopped, licking his lips nervously, and met Duo’s eyes.

 

The paper went up in flames, burning to ash almost instantly, so intense was the flame Duo had used to destroy it.

 

The doctor blanched, eyes wide.

 

“You can burn almost anything, doctor, if the fire is hot enough.”  Duo paused, thoughtfully, examining the contents of the desk.  He picked up a framed photo, a small child with dark hair and a toothy grin pictured behind the glass, and turned it over in his hands.  Hooking his foot in the metal trash can under the desk he dragged it out in preparation. The frame caught on fire seconds later, and he dropped it in the can, letting it burn at leisure.  

 

Dr. Ichii seemed horrifically entranced by the display, and Duo let it burn in silence for a few moments while he got the full effect.

 

“This whole facility is going up in flames tonight, Dr. Ichii, and you can either tell me everything I want to know, or you can go down with the ship.  Make a decision.  I’m on a timeline.”

 

Seconds later, Duo had his gun out and pointed at the office door before his mind even registered the sound of the latch.  

 

Heero watched him calmly while he waited on Duo to make the connection.  Tucking the gun away again, Duo snorted at him.  “Warn a guy, will ya?”  

 

Gesturing loosely at his head, Heero remarked drily, “Leave your radio on next time, and I will.”  He glanced at the scene in the office, unconcerned by the sight of a scientist tied to his own chair.  After a moment Heero held his hand out in askance.  “Give me your bag, I’ll finish the charges.”  

 

Duo was momentarily confused before he realized he’d left the earpiece dangling this whole time.  Sheepishly he tucked it back into his ear, wincing at the sound of blistering Chinese curses.  He tossed Heero his pack as the other man smirked at him knowingly before ducking back out into the hall to finish what Duo had started.  

 

Clicking the radio, he spoke.  “Chimera.  This is Diablo.  Dr. Ichii is apprehended.  Please advise.”

 

“Goddamit Ma-” the other man abruptly cut himself off, and Duo could picture him standing up from the console, stomping across the room to take a deep breath, calm himself down, before returning to try again.  Sure enough, a few seconds later his familiar voice came across the radio, restrained and words clipped.

 

Duo knew there would be hell to pay for this later.  He figured he could get a head start on his apology now.  “I’m sorry.”  There wasn’t much else he could say over an open radio, the contents of which would likely be used in a criminal prosecution.  He heard a sigh so deep it felt like Wufei had dragged it out of his toes.  

 

“I understand.”  And Duo knew he did, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rake him over the coals for it later.  “Bring him in for questioning.”

 

Pausing before he responded, Duo considered his next words.  Wufei was already pissed with him, justifiably so, but he also knew he had a good point to make.  “Recommend I interrogate him for the possibility of other YO-448 stores or Von Holck’s associates.”

 

He could practically feel Wufei’s irritation, before he sighed again, resigned and disgruntled.  “Fine.  Proceed.”  The words were short, but not as angry as he had expected.  Duo put his concern about his relationship with Wufei to the side, for now.  He had to deal with this first.  Turning back to the doctor, who seemed even more alarmed by the casual way they were discussing the imminent destruction of his facility and what to do with him, personally, Duo grinned.

 

“Now, Dr. Ichii, I believe you were about to tell me everything I wanted to know.”

 

It was a good thing Duo had left the radio on open broadcast, because Dr. Ichii couldn’t spill his secrets fast enough.

 

*

 

Duo and Heero deposited their prisoner in the back of the car they were using for the op, staying only long enough to make sure the building was fully engulfed in flames and doomed to its fate before driving to the private shuttle port Preventers used for this particular colony.  Heero had taken a detour on his way out of the building to knock the security guard unconscious and drag him a safe distance from the building.  At Duo’s questioning look, he’d muttered something about not wanting him to call for assistance with the flaming demise after he’d gone to so much trouble to disable to automatic fire alarms, but Duo was pretty sure that Heero felt the same way he did about unnecessary casualties, which is why he hadn’t made any snide remarks when he found Duo in the office with Dr. Ichii.

 

Who hadn’t said anything else since his confession had wound down to its end, just wincing when Duo had trailed his hand across the top of the desk, leaving a trail of flames in his wake.  

 

The flight to rendezvous with the Preventers shuttle in orbit was made in near-silence, as Heero and Duo had never needed much in the way of words between them.  Where Duo would normally have tried to fill the lack of sound with rambling nonsense, his focus was internal, pensive over the upcoming confrontation with Wufei.

 

Just before they docked, Heero turned to him expectantly. Duo looked up from where he was navigating the shuttle, an eyebrow raised in question.  “You need somethin’?”

 

Heero sighed, pressing his lips together into a thin line, before he seemed to galvanize himself into action.  “He was just… worried about you.”

 

Duo was rendered momentarily speechless, blinking at him in shock. “Heero, are you… are you giving me _relationship_ advice?”

 

The dark haired pilot glared at him in response.  “Just don’t say anything stupid.”

 

“Not very fuckin’ helpful Yuy.  I don’t usually plan to say stupid things.  They just come out of my mouth all on their own.”  Snorting, he turned back to the console, checking the numbers indicating their approach for any deviation.

 

After a moment, Heero turned back to the console himself, monitoring communication, looking belligerent and determined.  Without meeting Duo’s eyes, he spoke again.  “The best advice I ever received was to follow my emotions.”  He glanced at Duo out of the corner of his eyes, taking in whatever expression was on his face, and nodded to himself, as though he’d accomplished an important objective.

 

Duo couldn’t believe it. Heero ‘Mr. Antisocial’ Yuy was actually giving him relationship advice.  This day was a barrel of surprises.

 

Their small transport shuttle docked with the larger Preventer ship without incident, the two of them exiting in opposite directions, Heero off to do a large data dump of whatever he’d gotten from the computers, Duo headed down to the brig to drop off their prisoner.  He expected to run into Wufei around every corner, but the other pilot was conspicuously absent, even after Duo checked his weapons and tactical gear in and poked his head into the command center.

 

Knowing when he was being avoided, Duo made his way to the small bunk room he’d been assigned for the trip, planning on a shower and maybe a nap, and hopefully by then Wufei would be ready to talk to him.  

 

So it came as quite the surprise when he found his wayward team commander waiting for him in his room.

 

Apparently he wasn’t being avoided after all.

 

Wufei was laying face up on Duo’s bunk, hands behind his head, staring intently at the ceiling.  Duo shut the door behind him, quietly, and stood there, waiting, for what he didn't know.  After a few minutes, he cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Hey.”

 

“...hey.”

 

Wufei continued staring at the ceiling; Duo continued standing awkwardly by the door.  After a few more minutes, Duo sighed.  “I’m gonna go grab a quick shower, alright?  You can yell at me when I get back, yeah?”  

 

As Duo turned to rummage around in the small duffel he’d thrown together just before they left for the mission, Wufei sat up in one smooth, fluid motion, legs over the edge of the bed, elbows propped on his knees, observing Duo as he gathered up his toiletries and clean shorts.  By the time he was turning towards the small shower attached to the bunk room, Wufei finally spoke.

 

“What are we doing here, Duo?”

 

“Uh, savin’ the world?  Blowin’ shit up?  Putting off a fight so I can wash the smell of smoke out of my hair?  I dunno, man, what are you looking for here?”  Duo was thoroughly bewildered, and it probably showed.

 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Wufei sighed.  “No.  I mean, me and you, us.”  He gestured between the two of them.  “What are _we_ doing?”

 

And Duo suddenly realized that Heero had been trying to clue him in, back on the shuttle, and that they were having a real honest-to-god conversation about their relationship and he was by no means prepared for this.  It was obvious, too, that Wufei had clearly been thinking a lot about it, and that didn’t really bode well for him, overall, because he’d been avoiding thinking about it entirely.

 

Probably he should have been paying better attention; he might have seen this coming.

 

Resolutely, he pulled the small metal chair from the desk out, spinning it around and straddling the seat, arms crossed over the back.  He leaned his chin on his arms and tried to gather his thoughts.  “I’m sorry about what happened on the mission, I just… suddenly realized who the fucker was and all I could think about was Solo and…” he trailed off, helpless to explain the visceral, emotional reaction he’d suffered.

 

Wufei shook his head.  “I understand that.  That’s not what I’m talking about, though the five minutes of sheer terror I experienced when I couldn’t raise you on the comms did influence my decision to talk to you now.”

 

Duo couldn’t do anything but blink in surprise.  Terror, Wufei?  The two words didn’t even belong in the same sentence, unless you were talking about the fear he inspired in others.  “...what?” He finally offered, unable to come up with anything better.

 

The other man sighed, almost fondly.  “You’re hopeless, do you know that?”  He quirked a grin at Duo, taking the sting out of the words.  “Imagine the whole scenario in reverse, if I’d dropped off the comms like that, what would you have done?”

 

Duo thought back to the moments on the colony, where he’d been drowning in his Shinigami, unaware of Wufei, of anything, while contemplating the murder of an evil scientist.  Mostly, he thought about the sure knowledge he'd had of Wufei’s reaction once he was back on the comms.  And he was self-aware enough to know how he would have handled the situation if Wufei had been boots on the ground instead of him.

 

“I’d have probably hijacked a shuttle to come ‘n get you,” he admitted, ruefully.  

 

Wufei snorted in amusement.  “Would you hijack a shuttle to go get, say, Trowa?”

 

That caught Duo off-guard.  “Well, I mean, yeah if I thought he needed me to?”

 

“After being off the comms for a measly five minutes?”

 

“Ah, probably not?  I’d probably just ream him out when he put his earpiece… oh.”

 

When Wufei smiled at him this time, it was softer.  He stood, all smooth grace and controlled motion and moved to stand in front of the chair.  His hand brushed along Duo’s face, thumb brushing his mouth as Wufei looked down at him, cataloging his features.  “You should think about that more, Duo.  At length.”  He paused, lips pursed, obviously contemplating his words.  “I… care about you.  This isn’t just… stress relief, or however you’ve been justifying it, not for me.”  His hand wrapped around Duo’s head, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, tilting Duo’s face up.  Wufei leaned down, pressing their lips together briefly, and then he was gone, walking out the door.  

 

He paused, momentarily, at the threshold, and turned his head to speak over his shoulder.  “Just give it some thought.  I’d like to know where I stand.”

 

It was a long time before Duo managed to drag himself to the shower.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to ChronicWhimsy for her amazing beta skills. This story continues because she cracks the proverbial whip.
> 
> This is the dress that inspired Hilde’s: https://pmcwwd.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/marchesa-notte-pf17-8.jpg?w=207&h=315&crop=1 I went with black lace instead of the colorful flowers because that just didn’t feel like Hilde’s style.
> 
> Jessie Graff inspired Hilde’ ability to work it in heels. There’s a lovely video of her doing back flips on the red carpet that is well worth a look!
> 
> This dress inspired the blonde bad guy: http://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g5-M00-14-FB-rBVaI1lMuT2ATOAdAAKbyUiAOwI353.jpg/sexy-side-split-one-shoulder-evening-dresses.jpg  
> The move Hilde uses to subdue her opponent is a type of Judo move which cuts of the supply of blood to the brain. It takes about 5 seconds to be effective and lasts about 12 seconds before the other person starts to come around. There are some medical concerns regarding the technique, however, in multiple Judo fights where it has been employed, no one has died. 
> 
> Odin Lowe told Heero to follow his emotions with basically his dying breath and if you don’t know that, what are you doing in this fandom?


	14. We Need a Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens to Von Holck? Dr. Ichii? The pilots? Time to find out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last "official" chapter of Redacted - thanks to all of you for sticking with this and leaving all the lovely comments and kudos. It has been wonderful. 
> 
> There is a smutty epilogue coming (ha! A pun!) and at least one side story, so this 'verse isn't totally done, but this part of the story gets all wrapped up here.
> 
> This particular part is dedicated to Amberly, who inspired a big part of the scene involving Quatre.

_I won’t just survive_  
_Oh, you will see me thrive_  
_Can’t write my story_  
_I’m beyond the archetype_  
_I won’t just conform_  
_No matter how you shake my core_

Rise - Lauren Black

* * *

 

Everything following Von Holck’s arrest was an unadulterated circus.

Une had never thought it was going to to be easy, but it rapidly became a complete clusterfuck, in the infamous words of Maxwell. The legalities alone were a complicated mess of redacted mission reports and circumstantial evidence.

Von Holck’s lawyer immediately sought legal recourse in the criminal justice system, whereas Une had fought to have him prosecuted under paramilitary law as head of Preventers. The lawyer had argued that he wasn’t a Preventer, and that the Preventers’ mandate that they report to the President meant he wasn’t officially connected to the organization. The President himself had attempted to intervene, arguing that he’d delegated the responsibility. Eventually the ESUN Council decided to prosecute him in a military tribunal, citing the fact that he was charged with war crimes. His lawyer had subpoenaed the mission reports. Receiving the reports, he’d immediately subpoenaed the redacted details. There’d been a motion to strike both Relena and Dorothy’s testimony as hearsay. There’d been demands for full disclosure of operation details.

Une had sat in front of the trio of former military officers turned judges who had been convened especially for the Tribunal, on uncountable occasions to say things like:

“I can’t comment on operation specifics without the express permission of the Secretary of Security.” Of which, there wasn’t one, because he was the one on trial.

“I can’t comment on the specifics of the operation with regards to the operatives due to the classified nature of ongoing operations.”

Because they were still tracing and reconstructing the extensive nature of Von Holck’s entire organization, revealing names would endanger ongoing missions and agents’ lives. That was the official line, anyway. Mostly she was trying to keep as much of the process behind the location and capture of Von Holck as possible. Une knew she was treading on very thin ice.

Then the recording of the kidnappers’ interrogations was demanded, though Une still wasn’t sure how the lawyer had even found out about it, and she was unable to make a convincing argument to exclude it. After she was forced to turn it over to the defense team, she made an emergency appointment with the President of the ESUN. Newly elected, Relena was at least in a position to offer some assistance.

The fact that this had gone on so long was a mark of just how good the lawyer Von Holck had hired was. Une was starting to get nervous. Sitting across the desk from Relena, she thought the other woman was too.

“What’s happened now?” Relena sighed, leaning back in her chair.

Une chewed her lip. “I’ve been forced to turn over the recordings involving the interrogations of your kidnappers.”

  
“Why is that a problem?” Relena asked, brow furrowing. “I’d expect that to help the case.”

“Well, Von Holck as good as admits that he sabotaged the Preventers in them. Unfortunately, someone specifically mentions the Gundam Pilots on tape, and that's problematic in a dozen new and difficult ways.”

Relena sighed. “That is a problem. Where are they all now? Which pilot?”

“Chang and Maxwell are official, active Preventers, and have been from the beginning. Ideally, if we have to bring anyone into it, it’ll be one of them. Currently, however, they’re on vacation, of all things. Chang barged into my office two days ago and demanded two weeks’ downtime for the two of them, gave me almost no explanation, and they disappeared this morning. I don’t even know exactly where they are. Yuy went back to Budapest. We have him on retainer as an electronics and data security expert, and he’s unofficially agreed to come back for specific missions if that’s what we need. Barton and Winner are… more problematic. I cut Barton a deal to help us locate Von Holck. I expect that part will stay out of the trial, because he was tagged as an anonymous informant, and he’s not in the system at all, despite Chang’s urging to the contrary. I’ll consider offering him a similar deal as Yuy’s when this trial is done. He and Winner are in, effectively, witness protection. They can’t go back to L3 and get involved with what was going on there again, because we know about it, and Barton loses his legal immunity. They can’t go to L4 because of Winner’s… condition, and his family situation. He’s in the system as well, as a consultant. And of course he’s the one on the recording.”

Une understood the blonde pilot’s reasoning. Well, as much as anyone could, when he was being reasonable. It had been a calculated risk, designed to flush Von Holck out, force him to do something stupid in a panic. The fact that it hadn’t worked was just the nature of the gamble.

There was no way to avoid bringing one of the pilots into it. She’d essentially promised Chang that he and Maxwell would be able to put distance between their past and their future. She’d agreed not to connect them to the gundams.

Of course, she hadn’t foreseen this problem or its scope.

Relena pursed her lips, thinking. “What kind of consultancy do you have Quatre supposedly doing?”

Une had to think about it for a moment. “Operational Command.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Smirking a little, Une responded, “It means that we utilize him for his expertise in security, intelligence, and mission planning.”

“That’s literally everything,” Relena deadpanned.

“Yes. That’s the point.”

Relena shrugged a little, looking sly. “So bring Quatre in as your consultant, his voice is on the recording, and say it was a last-ditch effort to flush Von Holck out. That’s all true, as far as it goes. In fact,” and Relena leaned forward on the desk, looking as though she’d had a sudden stroke of genius, “set him and Trowa up, maybe Heero too, as a security consulting group, and you can utilize all of them however you like without making them Preventers.”

That was… actually it was brilliant, Une thought, turning it over in her mind. Relena was right, it justified bringing them in on any future operations, gave them something steady and legal they could utilize their skills for, and it made them look respectable. Lended them an air of expertise and credibility.

It was perfect.

*

Despite Une’s misgivings, Quatre was brilliant at the hearing.

“Well, as you know, the identities of the Gundam Pilots have never been established, so there was no way Von Holck could have postulated they weren’t looking for him. In fact, Pilot 01 was known, on several occasions, to have gone out of his way to protect or rescue Relena Darlian. It seemed reasonable to think Mr. Von Holck would believe such a thing.”

“It was a gamble, of course, but I assessed the situation to be a lost cause anyway, as Mr. Von Holck had correctly deduced that the Preventers were involved. I had hoped to goad him into rash action and an easy capture.”

“I was fifteen during the war, what exactly are you trying to imply?”

The way that he stared at the defense attorney across the table as though the man were a complete and utter moron was a nice touch, Une felt. She’d also managed to arrange for Trowa to be present at the judicial building, citing Quatre Winner’s need for a bodyguard. He was supposed to remain outside the closed hearing, but when she turned during Quatre’s testimony, he was at the back of the room, smirking at her.

Not long after the two of them left, Une’s phone vibrated at her hip. Glancing down, she saw that it was from the Preventers’ interim incarceration unit. Excusing herself from the room she stepped out to answer the phone. When she hung up, she could feel the sharklike grin stretching across her face as she scribbled out a quick note for the prosecutor, giving it to the bailiff to deliver.

She had a confession to accept.

*

Duo was halfheartedly packing clothes into a bag, waiting on Wufei to come back from Une’s office. The other man had announced this morning that they needed some time away, probably because he’d found Duo throwing knives at a printed photo of Von Holck’s face that he’d taped to the convenient Heero-target’s head. He’d swept out of the room with a “pack a bag” tossed over his shoulder, leaving Duo pleased but bewildered in his wake.

What did they know about taking a vacation?

And how likely was it that Une would let them go?

Not very, Duo thought, considering that this fucking Tribunal bullshit had been dragging out for months with no end in sight, and now Quatre and the Gundam Pilots were being dragged into it. So. He was putting stuff in a bag, but he wasn’t exactly convinced that there was going to be a trip at all.

Von Holck should have been locked in a deep, dark hole as soon as Trowa and Hilde had brought him back, but instead he’d pulled every trick of legal maneuvering he could manage to stay out. And then Dr. Ichii had followed suit, burying himself in legalese and hearing injunctions, hoping to stall the Tribunal out.

Duo had angrily pointed out that he’d confessed, and Une had resignedly responded that it had been while zip-tied to an office chair with the threat of being flambéd over his head.

“It’s called ‘duress’ Duo, and it makes his confession inadmissible.”

Duo called it bullshit, and he’d stormed out of her office after a few choice words.

What they needed was for him to confess again. Not under duress.

It was really too bad Trowa hadn’t been added to the payroll.

Still.

Duo tossed the last of what could reasonably be termed his ‘casual’ clothes into the duffle bag and zipped it closed. He had no idea what Wufei was planning, but he figured they’d spend at least a sizeable portion of it naked, and he could always just buy whatever it was he needed. Nothing between them had really been resolved yet, the threat of Von Holck’s release and the constant shifting and tidying of mission reports and witness testimonies had kept them busy whilst simultaneously feeling like an axe over their heads, waiting to fall. It hadn’t exactly been conducive to deep, emotional introspection or heart to heart conversations.

Instead they’d fallen back on their old habits, Wufei spending most nights in Duo’s quarters, not talking about their feelings. It was comfortable, familiar, and easy, and Duo would have happily maintained the holding pattern if he hadn’t caught Wufei watching him tenderly when he thought he wasn’t looking.

He owed the other man better than that.

But first, to take care of this Von Holck bullshit.

Duo turned back to the wardrobe, sifting through what was left to yank out dark slacks and a uniform shirt. He was rostered off today, but he doubted the incarceration unit would know that.

Tidied and presentable, he made his way over to the interim incarceration unit, sweet talking his way into the cell blocks. Once there, he leaned against the wall across from Ichii’s cell, just out of sight of the cameras, and stared at the man, who was visibly nervous.

Duo didn’t say anything, he just watched the scientist, a man who’d sold his soul for money, and thought about all the deaths he was responsible for. It didn’t take long for the old, black anger to stain his soul, color his smile.

Just leaned against the wall, and let Shinigami stare out of his eyes.

When Ichii was swallowing convulsively, sweating, and twitching nervously, Duo cranked the grin up a notch, held up his hands, the word ‘BYE’ dancing in obscene twists of orange flame.

It had the desired effect.

“Guards! Guards!”

Duo winked at the man as he turned to go, the on-duty officer entering the holding cells, glancing curiously at Duo as Ichii babbled nearly incoherently, demanding to confess. Hands in his pockets, Duo hummed a jaunty tune as he made his way back to the apartment to wait for Wufei.

*

Alina Alam was adjusting quite nicely to her new accommodations. After months of Heero having been mostly gone from the office and taking very few new security cases, he’d come back from what he ostensibly referred to as ‘some government work’ with two new young men and a desire to expand the business to accommodate all manner of security consulting, not just cyber.

She’d been impressed that the Preventers intended on putting them on retainer, and had set about to make the transition as smooth as possible, and had been mostly successful, including helping them move to a new, larger office in a better location. They’d added Trowa Barton and Quatre Winner (yes, that Quatre Winner, she’d been assured by the blonde man himself, smirking at her) to the company headliner, and settled back into business as usual.

They were an interesting group, Trowa nearly as quiet as Heero, though considerably more approachable, and Quatre with all the eccentricities one would expect from someone who was accustomed to money and prestige, though she didn’t know where he’d got off to in the last few years, considering her last recollection was something about how he’d gone missing.

Regardless, it wasn’t any of her business.

So on Wednesday morning, she’d been expecting a reasonably quiet day at the office, especially as none of them had any meetings scheduled.

What she hadn’t expected was the arrival of an imperious blonde woman, bearing a striking resemblance to Quatre, demanding to speak with the blonde man. Alina barely managed to stumble through a greeting, wide-eyed as the woman leaned over her desk, eyes flashing.

“My name is Malika Winner, and I’m here to speak with my brother.”

Alina picked up the phone, dialing into Quatre’s office. He picked up the phone, speaking before she even had the opportunity to explain.

“Please, send sister-dearest straight back, Alina.” His voice was darkly amused.

“Yes- yes, sir,” she stuttered, and hung up the phone, standing to lead the other woman down the hallway.

Rapping briskly on the door, Alina opened it for Malika, catching a glimpse of Quatre sitting behind his desk, chin propped in his hand, looking curiously bored, Trowa off to the side, similarly unconcerned.

Alina retreated rapidly, closing the door behind her, no desire whatsoever to insert herself into their dysfunctional family dynamics.

She did, however, stop by Heero’s office to let him know about the situation, where he sighed in exasperation.

“You should probably take a long lunch,” he drolly informed her, shuffling the things on his desk into some semblance of order and packing them away. “This may take awhile.”

She took his advice, gathering her handbag and scooting out of the building at 11:00 with plans to come back in the early afternoon. Heero flipped the hours sign to ‘Closed for Lunch’ as she walked out.

*

Trowa had been sitting in Quatre’s office, calmly discussing the progression of Von Holck’s ‘trial’ when the other man had paused, turning towards the front of the building, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. Instantly on alert, Trowa opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but the phone rang before he could speak, Quatre’s hand darting out to pick it up mid-ring.

“Please, send sister-dearest straight back, Alina.”

Oh great, just what he was not in the mood for.

The blonde man turned back to him, still grinning slyly, and Trowa realized he wasn’t dealing with totally-rational Quatre anymore. He sighed.

“Malika has come to pay us a visit, Trowa!” Quatre was in the sort of spitefully cheerful mood that had gotten them into so much trouble on L3 all those years ago. He looked like a murderous pixie. And while Trowa founding it endearing, killing Malika in the middle of Budapest on a Wednesday morning was probably not good for the new leaf they were trying to turn over in polite society.

“Quatre,” he began, putting some push into it, “you can’t kill or maim Malika.”

The other man pouted at him. “You’re no fun at all these days, Trowa.” He sighed, the sound expressively petulant, making Trowa smile. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave.”

Trowa didn’t believe that for a moment, but that was as much reassurance as he was going to get, because Alina was rapping at the door, pushing it open to admit Quatre’s sister, shutting it quickly behind her. Obviously she was anxious to get clear of the blast zone.

Alina was a smart girl.

“Malika, dear, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Quatre grinned up, insolently, making it clear that he could not possibly be any more sarcastic.

Not that the infuriating women seemed to recognize she was treading on dangerous ground. She never even acknowledged Trowa’s presence, though he hadn’t done anything to be unnoticeable.

“I don’t know what you believe you’re playing at,” she began, perching on the cushioned chair across from the desk, “but you’re going to come home immediately, and cease this behavior. You have an obligation to fulfill and I’m here to see that you do it.”

Trowa snorted, quietly.

Quatre laughed outright. “Oh Malika, you don’t want me to come home,” he purred, “trust me. You want me to stay as far away from WEI, and you, in particular, as possible.”

“Father was very clear,” and she was both disgruntled and bitter, Trowa could see, “that you were to inherit and run the company, and that is what you’re going to do.”

“No,” Quatre mused, reaching into a desk drawer, “no I don’t think I am.” He removed a wicked looking matte black pistol, dropping it almost carelessly on the desk, within easy reach, followed by a sheath of paperwork.

Malika, for the first time, looked unsure of herself. Apparently she’d forgotten that the little brother she’d come here to call to heel had killed an awful lot of people.

Quatre pulled out the paperwork he’d retrieved, laying it out on the desk, nudging the gun to one side with his elbow. “Here’s what we’re going to do instead.” He looked up, eyes cold and face hard. “You’re going to buy me out, and then you’re never going to bother me again.”

*

Dr. Ichii’s testimony was the nail in Von Holck’s coffin. Duo and Heero had taken very thorough pictures of the lab and downloaded all of the computer records, and Dr. Ichii was able to identify all of the viral specimens and research documents pertaining to YO-448, and cyber crimes had been able to dig up phone records tying the good doctor to Von Holck while he’d been in hiding.

The tribunal sentenced both of them to life in a maximum security military facility, with no possibility of parole.

Von Holck was apoplectic, of course, but Dr. Ichii looked relieved, which puzzled Une to no end.

Of course, she’d heard from the guards that Duo had gone to visit him the day he confessed, but she’d reviewed the tapes and he hadn’t spoken a word to the man and no one had seen him do anything untoward.

Regardless, he’d managed to put the fear of God, or rather, Shinigami into the man, and ensured a conviction.

Overall, Une was extremely pleased with the outcome, and with the new legislation Relena had used her political clout and Von Holck’s disgrace to shoehorn through the council. The Preventers would be around, with adequate resources and an appropriate level of operational discretion, for a long time to come.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ChronicWhimsy for toughing this whole thing out and just generally being wonderful. This story would not exist without her encouragement and confidence that I could do it.
> 
> Military tribunals are very different from real trials and are reserved, typically, for enemy combatants or people charged with war crimes. I have adapted that process here to suit my purposes.


	15. Gazing into Infinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Epilogue! Smut ahoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so here is the (not)long awaited smutty epilogue for Redacted.
> 
> This was supposed to just be filthy smut, but it turned into some kind emotional investment I didn't expect. 
> 
> So here, have some emotional smut with a side of introspective self-awareness.
> 
> For Rane, who has followed this to the end, and TumbleDryLemur, who loves some lovey-dovey 2x5 action <3 thank you both for your encouragement and commentary!

__

_ Sweet dreams are made of this _

_ Who am I to disagree? _

_ I travel the world _

_ And the seven seas, _

_ Everybody's looking for something _

Sweet Dreams - Emily Browning cover

* * *

 

Duo wasn't entirely sure he knew what a vacation even was, much less how to take one, but it became abundantly clear that Wufei did

Or at least that he'd done extensive research. 

They'd flown from Brussels to Rome, caught a charter flight to a town in Sardinia, and then rented a car and somehow ended up in a small seaside town and a four star hotel overlooking the Mediterranean. 

For all that it was as clichéd as possible, it was… nice. 

And tourist season was well past, which meant it was nearly deserted as well. Perfect for two high-strung gundam pilots with twitchy reflexes and a deeply ingrained inability to relax.  Wufei made them incommunicado, except for the emergent contacts the pilots always maintained, and they spent two gloriously carefree nights in the hotel before Duo started getting stir crazy.  Wufei picked up on it pretty much immediately, what with Duo bouncing restlessly around the hotel room, and suggested an outing.

A little light shopping for the things they didn't have - in Duo’s case, swimwear and sunscreen, particularly - and a boat charter later, they'd found themselves on an empty, secluded island in the middle of the Mediterranean sea, and it was probably the closest thing to bliss he'd experienced in, well, ever. 

In addition to the swimwear and the sunscreen, they’d bought a small tent and hiking gear, and once they arrived at the island Duo and Wufei spent the better part of the morning exploring, and the afternoon on the beach.  Duo enjoyed it immensely, the physical activity without the usual rush of life-or-death adrenaline, not to mention following Wufei up and down the slight inclines and cliffs near the ocean.  It had been an excellent view on all fronts.  Then the other man had stripped down to swim trunks and stretched out with a book on a lounger and Duo had admired that view, too, trudging down to the shore in his own shorts to get his toes wet and admire the clear blue water.

Later, much later, after they’d wrestled the tent up, sweating and swearing, and the sun had set, and the temperature started to turn chilly, prompting Duo to start a small driftwood fire, they stretched out on a blanket staring up at an amazingly unimpeded view of the stars.  

Duo sighed, part in contentment, part in wonderment, tracking Lagrange points and for once not calculating anything about payload or atmospheric conditions for flight, or anything important really.  Just admiring the star-filled sky.  

Sometimes he missed space.

Wufei’s slightly-chilled fingers reached over to slide between his and Duo turned his head, finding Wufei watching him, rather than the sky, the flickering firelight providing just enough illumination for Duo to make out the same expression that had been resting on the other man’s face for weeks or months, or however long before Duo had noticed it.

He swallowed, hard, past a sudden tightness in his chest and throat, opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, closed it again.

The look on Wufei’s face changed, turned dark, smirky, with a bit of a challenge, and he shifted, leveraging himself over Duo in a smooth, sinuous motion that left Duo speechless for an entirely different reasons, at least for a moment.

“Can I help you with something?” he croaked, as Wufei stretched out, making himself comfortable over Duo, who was glad for the sand under his back, which was soft and shifting, rather than one of the rockier areas of the coast they’d explored.

“Perhaps,” Wufei murmured, leaning down to nibble along Duo’s jaw and what he could reach of his neck, around the sweatshirt he’d thrown on when the breeze had started up off the ocean.  The hot flicker of tongue, stark contrast to the chill in the air, startled a gasp out of Duo, and Wufei worked nimble fingers under the hem of his shirt, teasing at the bare skin of his abdomen.

“I think,” Duo groaned, “that you’re up to something nefarious.”

A warm chuckle vibrated against him as Wufei pushed the well-worn cotton up under his armpits, exposing Duo’s chest, goosebumps erupting along his exposed skin.  “Only good things,” he murmured, mouth following the trail the shirt had taken, tiny nips and moist heat sending a shiver down Duo’s spine.  

Wufei drew back, tugging meaningfully at Duo’s clothes, and Duo levered himself up obligingly, tugging the sweatshirt and underlying tshirt over his head, the heat in Wufei’s gaze enough to ward off the chill of the air.  

Settling himself back on the blanket, scooting a little to get comfortable, with enough extra emphasis to prove his interest as he arched up, he raised his eyebrow, looking up at Wufei expectantly.  Sighing in pretended exasperation, the Chinese man reached for the hem of his own tshirt, stripping it over his head, and goddamn but Duo never got tired of the view, the smooth ripple of well honed muscle, the scars tangible proof of his ability to overcome.

To survive.

Wufei must have seen the look on his face, Duo’s thoughts turning dark and maudlin, and he did his level best to shift the tone, leaning forward to press their mouths together, tongue dancing in a rhythmic impression of activities that were definitely on the agenda, Duo arching into his touch and moaning into his mouth.  

When Wufei retreated, they were both panting, and Duo wasn’t cold at all anymore, and was, in fact, anxious to get completely naked, not phased in the least by the exposure, the total openness of their surroundings.  Either following his thoughts or, more likely, being on the same  page, Wufei reached for the ties on Duo’s shorts, tugging them down, Duo accommodatingly lifting his hips, his naked erection springing free, Wufei’s eyes following the path of the shorts like a physical caress.

Duo bit his lip and restrained himself from reaching out to tug his cock, seeking relief, and instead reached for the waist of Wufei’s shorts, shoving at them impatiently.   The other man rocked back on his heels, sliding them down his legs, over his knees, past his feet, pausing to dig in the pocket before dropping them off to the side with Duo’s.

Duo caught sight of a small, familiar-looking tube, and he had to smile.

Draping his body over Duo’s, Wufei nipped at the grin on his face.  “What are you laughing about?”

The feel of their naked skin coming into contact was almost, almost enough to make him forget, but he answered anyway.  “Just thinkin’ what a boy scout you are, ‘sall.”  He tilted his face, just a little, lining their mouths up better, nudging Wufei’s face, coaxing him into a kiss.  The other man returned it, humming appreciatively, the kiss slow and languid, befitting the mood, relaxed and warm.

The heat between them built slowly, hot caresses and explorative kisses, hands stroking and tongues tangled, until Duo was arching up into Wufei, breath stuttering, begging without words.  Wufei drew back, hands trailing lower, until he was fisting Duo’s cock, tugging, and Duo groaned in a mixture of lust and relief, thrusting up into the practiced grip.

Driving Duo to distraction, Wufei tugged and pulled, rearranging him to his satisfaction, until he had one leg wrapped around the Chinese man’s waist, the other hooked over his elbow, and Wufei’s fingers were ghosting across his balls, coaxing them down and away from his body, delaying his orgasm, and Duo made a noise of protest until those same clever fingers made their way further, circling the entrance to his body.

“Ah!” He cried out, part breathless anticipation, part frustration. “Come on, come on, come on,” he grumbled, arching as much as he could into the touch.

Wufei snorted.  “Impatient much?” he asked, fingers disappearing again.  

Duo made a noise that he might, under threat of torture, admit was very nearly a whine.  “You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little,” and Wufei, at least, sounded affected by the sight of Duo spread below him, practically begging, as he returned with slick fingers, his touch firmer.

Duo had his eyes clenched shut, body taught, fingers clenched in the blankets as Wufei’s fingers pressed inside of him, unerringly aimed for the place that made thought cease and sparks fly.  The sound Duo made this time was garbled and incoherent as he tossed his head and canted his hips towards the invading digits.

“Fuck, Duo,” the words sounded like they were torn out of Wufei’s chest and Duo blinked his eyes open to look at the other man, staring at him with something like awe.   

Another finger slipped inside his body, easy and smooth, and Duo was off again, lids drifting shut as the pressure and pleasure increased.  Something about the location, the solitude, the combination of total privacy and complete exposure was making him raw, like an exposed nerve, overly sensitive and vulnerable and a thousand other things he usually abhorred, but this one time, this one night, it was liberating.

Wufei’s hand slipped away, and Duo groaned, arching, chasing sensation, and Wufei made a small sound, a little hiccup of a thing, and then his cock was pressed up again Duo’s body, pushing past resistance, nudging slowly into his body, and it was so much, almost too much-

“Duo.”

He dragged his eyes open, looking up to focus on the man above him, seated as far as he could go in Duo’s body, and his breath caught in his chest, not just from the sensation, but from his own surprising response.  

Duo found himself staring up, Wufei’s face suffused with lust, and that carefully unnamed expression - and he was surrounded by stars.  

Then he moved.

A slow slide out, followed but a swift thrust back in, and Duo was seeing stars of a different kind as he struggled to maintain Wufei’s gaze, arching into the hand that was still gripping his cock.  The other man got more intense, thrusting harder, faster, until Duo was gasping for breath, moaning almost continuously, then Wufei hitched his knee a little higher, thrusting harder-

“Fuck!”

Duo forgot to think, forgot to breathe, and then he was scrabbling, scrambling, tugging Wufei down, closer to him, hands buried in his long-ago loosened hair, bringing their mouths together, wrapping both his legs around the other man’s waist.  Wufei’s arms wrapped around him, under his neck, bracing him as he continued to roll into him, pressing nibbling kisses along his neck and jaw, Duo’s erection trapped between them, the friction almost, almost, he was  _ nearly there _ -

When he came it was a hot, liquid rush, less explosion and more drowning wave, like a tsunami, and he was staring up at the stars, and listening to Wufei’s labored breathing and inhaling his scent, surrounding and surrounded by him and he gasped out his completion at the same time that he had the dawning realization-

“Love you!” The words clawed their way out of his throat, like they’d been dragged over a field of broken glass, as he clenched Wufei closer with his whole body and the other man shuddered, gasping, hips stuttering, as his hands grasping against Duo’s shoulders and he came, too.

They lay there for long moments, sweat cooling on their skin and breathing returning to normal, before Wufei shifted, turning to press his lips against the place under Duo’s ear.  “Did you mean it?” he asked, quiet, voice carefully neutral.

Duo swallowed.  Cleared his throat.  “Yeah,” he rasped.  Cleared his throat again.  “Not somethin’ I’d say on a whim.”

Wufei pulled back, just far enough to be able to look into Duo’s face, making Duo feel shy and awkward, even as he was struck again by the juxtaposition of Wufei’s face against the infinite skyline.  Wufei reached out and stroked the strands of his hair that had come loose out of his face, still staring down at him, that same damned tender look on his face, like Duo was something precious, instead of battle-scarred and world-weary and a force of destruction inside human skin.

Leaning down, he pressed their lips together, the faintest of touches, and Duo could feel the curve of the smile on his lips.  “Love you, too,” he murmured.

Some kind of strange wonderment rose up in Duo’s chest, like the time he’d realized Wufei could walk through fire, that weird sense of hope, insidious, curling around his heart, and he felt his own face curve in an answering smile.

“Yeah?” he breathed, some of that awe creeping out into the word.

“Yeah,” Wufei hummed his agreement, tucking his head down into the curve of Duo’s neck, warm breath ghosting across his skin.

He reached out, grabbing the edges of their blanket and tucking it around them, and stared up at infinity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sardinia is a real island of the coast of Italy, and I'm planning a fantasy trip there as we speak.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ChronicWhimsy for beta-reading this and being my brain degreaser! I didn’t keep notes on who come up with which ideas, but in any areas that I found myself stuck, she was essential in helping me unstick my plot.


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